THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN, 


AND   OTHER  TALES. 


BY 

HANNAH     MORE 


NEW   YORK: 
DERBY  &  JACKSON,  119   NASSAU  STREET. 

1850. 


STERKOTYI'F.I)  BY  PRINTED    I1Y 

Thomas    B.    Smith,  Geo.  Russell  &  Cc 

82  4  84  Btvkman  Street.  i,  ekman  St. 


CONTENTS 


+~*~* 

%xh$  for  tire  Cfliinon  ffflpl*. 

Pagb 

The  Shepherd  of  Salisbury  Plain 1 

The  Two  Shoemakers 41 

The  History  of  Tom:  "White,  the  Post  Boy 119 

The  Sunday  School 152 

The  History  of  Hester  Wllmot,  being  the  sequel  to 

the  Sunday  School 1G6 

The  History  of  Betty  Brown,  the  St.  Giles's  Orange 
Girl  ;  with  some  account  of  Mrs.  Sponge,  the  Money- 
lender  191 

Black  Giles  the  Poacher;  containing  some  account  of 
a  family  who  n,\D  rather  live  by  their   wits  than 

TnEiR   work 204 

Tawney  Rachel,  or  the  Fortcxe-Teller;  with  some 
account  of  Dreams,  Omens,  and  Conjurers 230 


6311: 


CONTENTS. 

Status  far  firffKJ  0f  1UH.U  $xil. 

Pagb 

The  History  op  Mr.  Faxtom  (the  new-fashioned  Phi- 
losopher),  and  his  man  William 245 

The  Two  "Wealthy  Farmers;  or  the  History  of  Mr. 
Bragwell i 2176 

'TlS  ALL  FOR  THE  BEST 387 

A  Cure  for  Melancholy 405 


gjtlleprns. 

The  Pilgrims 423 

The  Valley  of  Tears 437 

The  Strait  Gate  and  the  Broad  "Way 444 

Parley  the  Porter , *.  456 

The   Grand  Assizes;    or  General  Jail  Delivery 470 

The  Servant  Man  turned  Soldiee,  or  the  Fair-weather 
Christian 479 


'     TALES 

FOE    THE    COMMON    PEOPLE. 


"  Religion  is  for  the  man  in  humble  life,  and  to  raise  his 
nature,  and  to  put  him  in  mind  of  a  state  in  which  the  privileges 
of  opulence  will  cease,  when  he  will  be  equal  by  nature,  and  may 
be  more  than  equal  by  virtue." — Burke  on  the  French  Revolution. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


To  improve  the  habits,  and  raise  the  principles  of  the  common 
people,  at  a  time  when  their  dangers  and  temptations,  moral  and 
political,  were  multiplied  beyond  the  example  of  any  former 
period,  was  the  motive  which  impelled  the  author  of  these  volumes 
to  devise  and  prosecute  the  institution  of  the  "  Cheap  Repository." 
This  plan  was  established  with  an  humble  wish  not  only  to  coun- 
teract vice  and  profligacy  on  the  one  hand,  but  error,  discontent, 
and  false  religion  on  the  other.  And  as  an  appetite  for  reading 
had,  from  a  variety  of  causes,  been  increased  among  the  inferior 
ranks  in  this  country,  it  was  judged  expedient,  at  this  critical 
period,  to  supply  such  wholesome  aliment  as  might  give  a  new 
direction  to  their  taste,  and  abate  their  relish  for  those  corrupt 
and  inflammatory  publications  which  the  consequences  of  the 
French  Revolution  have  been  so  fatally  pouring  in  upon  us. 

The  success  of  the  plan  exceeded  the  most  sanguine  expecta- 
tions of  its  projector.  Above  two  millions  of  the  tracts  were  sold 
within  the  first  year,  besides  very  large  numbers  in  Ireland ;  and 
they  continue  to  be  very  extensively  circulated,  in  their  original 
form  of  single  tracts,  as  well  as  in  three  bound  volun 

As  these  stories,  though  principally,  are  not  calculated  exclusively 
for  the  middle  and  lower  classes  of  society,  the  author  has,  at  the 
desire  of  her  friends,  selected  those  which  were  written  by  herself 
and  presented  them  to  the  public  in  this  collection  of  her  works, 
in  an  enlarged  and  improved  form.  • 


THE 

SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PUIN. 


Mr.  Johnson,  a  very  worthy  charitable  gentleman,  was 
traveling  some  time  ago  across  one  of  those  vast  plains  which 
are  well  known  in  Wiltshire.  It  was  a  fine  summer's  even- 
ing, and  he  rode  slowly  that  he  might  have  leisure  to  ad- 
mire God  in  the  works  of  his  creation.  For  this  gentleman 
was  of  opinion,  that  a  walk  or  a  ride  was  as  proper  a  time 
as  any  to  think  about  good  things  :  for  which  reason,  on 
such  occasions  he  seldom  thought  so  much  about  his  money 
or  his  trade,  or  public  news,  as  at  other  times,  that  he  might 
with  more  ease  and  satisfaction  enjoy  the  pious  thoughts 
which  the  wonderful  works  of  the  great  Maker  of  heaven 
and  earth  are  intended  to  raise  in  the  mind. 

As  this  serene  contemplation  of  the  visible  heavens  in- 
sensibly lifted  up  his  mind  from  the  works  of  God  in  nature 
to  the  same  God  as  he  is  seen  in  revelation,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  this  very  connexion  was  clearly  intimated  by 
the  royal  prophet  in  the  nineteenth  Psalm — that  most 
beautiful  description  of  the  greatness  and  power  of  God  ex- 
hibited in  the  former  part,  plainly  seeming  intended  to  intro- 
duce, illustrate,  and  unfold  the  operations  of  the  word  and 
Spirit  of  God  on  the  heart  in  the  latter.  And  he  began  to  run 
a  parallel  in  his  own  mind  between  the  effects  of  that  highly 
poetical  and  glowing  picture  of  the  material  sun  in  search- 
ing and  warming  the  earth,  in  the  first  six  verses,  and  the 


8  THES HEP  HERD 

spiritual  operation  attributed  to  the  "  law  of  God,"  which  fills 
up  the  remaining  part  of  the  Psalm.  And  he  persuaded 
himself  that  the  divine  Spirit  which  dictated  this  fine  hymn, 
had  left  it  as  a  kind  of  general  intimation  lo  what  use  we 
were  to  convert  our  admiration  of  created  things  ;  namely, 
that  we  might  be  led  by  a  sight  of  them  to  raise  our  views 
from  the  kingdom  of  nature  to  that  of  grace,  and  that  the 
contemplation  of  God  in  his  works  might  draw  us  to  con- 
template him  in  his  word. 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections,  Mr.  Johnson's  attention 
was  all  of  a  sudden  called  off  by  the  barking  of  a  shepherd's 
dog,  and  looking  up,  he  spied  one  of  those  little  huts  which 
are  here  and  there  to  be  seen  on  those  great  downs ;  and 
near  it  was  the  shepherd  himself  busily  employed  with  his 
dog  in  collecting  together  his  vast  flock  of  sheep.  As  he 
drew  nearer,  he  perceived  him  to  be  a  clean,  welldooking, 
poor  man,  near  fifty  years  of  age.  His  coat,  though  at  first 
it  had  probably  been  of  one  dark  color,  had  been  in  a  long 
course  of  years  so  often  patched  with  different  sorts  of  cloth, 
that  it  was  now  become  hard  to  say  which  had  been  the 
original  color.  But  this,  while  it  gave  a  plain  proof  of 
the  shepherd's  poverty,  equally  proved  the  exceeding  neat- 
ness, industry,  and  good  management  of  his  wife.  His 
stockings  no  less  proved  her  good  housewifery,  for  they 
were  entirely  covered  with  dams  of  different  colored  worst- 
eds, but  had  not  a  hole  in  them ;  and  his  shirt,  though 
nearly  as  coarse  as  the  sails  of  a  ship,  was  as  white  as  the 
drifted  snow,  and  was  neatly  mended  where  time  had  either 
made  a  rent,  or  worn  it  thin.  This  furnishes  a  rule  of  judg- 
*ng»  hy  which  one  shall  seldom  be  deceived.  If  I  meet 
with  a  laborer,  hedging,  ditching,  or  mending  the  high- 
ways, with  his  stockings  and  shirt  tight  and  whole,  how- 
ever mean  and  bad  his  other  garments  are,  I  have  seldom 
failed,  on  visiting  his  cottage,  to  find  that  also  clean  and 


OF     SALISBURY    PLAIN.  9 

* 

well  ordered,  and  his  wife  notable,  and  worthy  of  encourage- 
ment. Whereas,  a  poor  woman,  who  will  be  lying  a-bed, 
or  gossiping  with  her  neighbors  when  she  ought  to  be  fit- 
ting out  her  husband  in  a  cleanly  manner,  will  seldom  be 
found  to  be  very  good  in  other  respects. 

This  was  not  the  case  with  our  shepherd :  and  Mr.  John- 
son was  not  more  struck  with  the  decency  of  his  mean  and 
frugal  dress,  than  with  his  open  honest  countenance,  which 
bore  strong  marks  of  health,  cheerfulness,  and  spirit. 

Mr.  Johnson,  who  was  on  a  journey,  and  somewhat  fear- 
ful from  the  appearance  of  the  sky,  that  rain  was  at  no  great 
distance,  accosted  the  shepherd  with  asking  what  sort  of 
weather  he  thought  it  would  be  on  the  morrow.  "  It  will 
be  such  weather  as  pleases  me,"  answered  the  shepherd. 
Though  the  answer  was  delivered  in  the  mildest  and  most 
civil  tone  that  could  be  imagined,  the  ereutleman  thought 
the  words  themselves  rather  rude  and  surly,  and  asked  him 
how  that  could  be.  "  Because,"  replied  the  shepherd,  "it 
will  be  such  weather  as  shall  please  God,  and  whatever 
pleases  him  always  pleases  me." 

Mr.  Johnson,  who  delighted  in  good  men  and  good  things, 
was  very  well  satisfied  with  his  reply.  For  he  justly  thought 
that  though  a  hypocrite  may  easily  contrive  to  appear  bet- 
ter than  he  really  is  to  a  stranger  ;  and  that  no  one  should 
be  too  soon  trusted,  merely  for  having  a  few  good  words  in 
his  mouth  ;  yet  as  he  knew  that  out  of  the  abundance  of 
the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,  he  always  accustomed  him- 
self to  judge  favorably  of  those  who  had  a  serious  deport- 
ment and  solid  manner  of  speaking.  It  looks  as  if  it  pro- 
'■■  eded  from  a  good  habit,  said  he,  and  though  I  may  now 
and  then  be  deceive  1  by  it,  yet  it  has  not  often  happened  to 
me  to  be  so.  Whereas  if  a  man  accosts  me  with  an  idle, 
dissolute,  vulgar,  indecent,  or  profane  expression,  I  have 
never  been  deceived  in  him,  but  have  generally  on  inquiry, 

1* 


10  THE     SHEPHERD 

found  his  character  to  be  as  bad  as  his  language  gave  me 
room  to  expect. 

Ee  entered  into  conversation  with  the  shepherd  in  the 
following  manner :  "  Yours  is  a  troublesome  life,  honest 
friend,"  said  he.  "  To  be  sure,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd, 
"  'tis  not  a  very  lazy  life ;  but  'tis  not  near  so  toilsome  as 
that  which  my  Great  Master  led  for  my  sake ;  and  he 
had  every  state  and  condition  of  life  at  his  choice,  and  chose 
a  hard  one  ;  while  I  only  submit  to  the  lot  that  is  appoint- 
ed to  me."  "  You  are  exposed  to  great  cold  and  heat,"  said 
the  gentleman.  "  True,  sir,"  said  the  shepherd  ;  "  but  then 
I  am  not  exposed  to  great  temptations ;  and  so,  throwing 
one  thing  against  another,  God  is  pleased  to  contrive  to 
make  things  more  equal  than  we  poor,  ignorant,  short- 
sighted creatures,  are  apt  to  think.  David  was  happier 
when  he  kept  his  father's  sheep  on  such  a  plain  as  this,  and 
employed  in  singing  some  of  his  own  Psalms  perhaps,  than 
ever  he  was  when  he  became  king  of  Israel  and  Judah. 
And  I  dare  say  we  should  never  have  had  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  texts  in  all  those  fine  Psalms,  if  he  had  not  been 
a  shepherd,  which  enabled  him  to  make  so  many  fine  com- 
parisons and  similitudes,  as  one  may  say,  from  country  life, 
flocks  of  sheep,  hills,  and  valleys,  fields  of  corn,  and  fount- 
ains of  water." 

"  You  think,  then,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  that  a  laborious 
life  is  a  happy  one."  "I  do,  sir;  and  more  so  especially, 
as  it  exposes  a  man  to  fewer  sins.  If  king  Saul  had  con 
tinuei  a  poor  laborious  man  to  the  end  of  his  days,  he  might 
have  lived  happy  and  honest,  and  died  a  natural  death  in 
his  bed  at  last,  which  you  know,  sir,  was  more  than  he  did. 
But  I  speak  with  reverence,  for  it  was  divine  Providence 
overruled  all  that,  you  know,  sir,  and  I  do  not  presume  to 
make  comparisons.  Besides,  sir,  my  employment  has  been 
particularly  honored  :  Moses  was  a  shepherd  on  the  plains  of 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  11 

Midian.  It  was  to  '  shepherds  keeping  their  flocks  by  night,' 
that  the  angels^appeared  in  Bethlehem,  to  tell  the  best  news, 
the  gladdest  tidings,  that  ever  were  revealed  to  poor  sinful 
men ;  often  and  often  has  the  thought  warmed  my  poor 
heart  in  the  coldest  night,  and  filled  me  with  more  joy  and 
thankfulness  than  the  best  supper  could  have  done." 

Here  the  shepherd  stopped,  for  he  began  to  feel  that  he 
had  made  too  free,  and  talked  too  long.  But  Mr.  Johnson 
was  so  well  pleased  with  what  he  said,  and  with  the  cheer- 
ful contented  manner  in  which  he  said  it,  that  he  desired 
him  to  go  on  freely,  for  it  was  a  pleasure  to  him  to  meet 
with  a  plain  man,  who,  without  any  kind  of  learning  but 
what  he  had  got  from  the  Bible,  was  able  to  talk  so  well  on 
a  subject  in  which  all  men,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
are  equally  concerned. 

"  Indeed  I  am  afraid  I  make  too  bold,  sir,  for  it  better 
becomes  me  to  listen  to  such  a  gentleman  as  you  seem  to 
be,  than  to  talk  in  my  poor  way :  but  as  I  was  saying,  sir, 
I  wonder  all  working  men  do  not  derive  as  great  joy  and 
delight  as  I  do  from  thinking  how  God  has  honored  pover- 
ty !  Oh  !  sir,  what  great,  or  rich,  or  mighty  men  have  had 
such  honor  put  on  them,  or  their  condition,  as  shepherds, 
tentmakers,  fishermen,  and  carpenters  have  had  !  Besides, 
it  seems  as  if  God  honored  industry  also.  The  way  of  duty 
is  not  only  the  way  of  safety,  but  it  is  remarkable  how  many, 
in  the  exercise  of  the  common  duties  of  their  calling,  hum- 
bly and  rightly  performed,  as  we  may  suppose,  have  found 
honors,  preferment,  and  blessing:  while  it  does  not  occur 
to  me  that  the  whole  sacred  volume  presents  a  single  in- 
stance of  a  like  blessing  conferred  on  idleness.  Rebekah, 
Rachel,  and  Jethro's  daughters,  were  diligently  employed 
iu  the  lowest  occupations  of  a  country  life,  when  Providence, 
by  means  of  those  very  occupations,  raised  them  up  hus- 
bands so  famous  in  history,  as  Isaac,  Jacob,  and  the  prophet 


»* 


12  THE     SHEPHERD 

Moses.  The  shepherds  were  neither  playing,  nor  sleeping, 
but  '  watching  their  flocks,'  when  they  received  the  news  of 
a  Saviour's  birth  ;  and  the  woman  of  Samaria,  by  the  labor- 
ious office  of  drawing  water,  was  brought  to  the  knowledge 
of  him  who  gave  her  to  drink  of  '  living  water.'  " 

"  My  honest  friend,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I  perceive  you 
are  well  acquainted  with  Scripture."     "  Yes,  sir,  pretty  well, 
blessed  be  God  !  Through  his  mercy  I  learned  to  read  when 
I  was  a  little  boy ;  though  reading  was  not  so  common 
when  I  was  a  child,  as,  I  am  told,  through  the  goodness  of 
Providence  and  the  generosity  of  the  rich,  it  is  likely  to 
become  now-a-days.     I  believe  there  is  no  day,  for  the  last 
thirty  years,  that  I  have  not  peeped  at  my  Bible.     If  we 
can't  find  time  to  read  a  chapter,  I  defy  any  man  to  say  he 
can't  find  time  to  read  a  verse  ;  and  a  single  text,  sir,  well 
followed,  and  put  in  practice  every  day,  would  m  ike  no  bad 
figure  at  the  year's  end  :  three  hundred  and  sixty -five  texts, 
without  the  loss  of  a  moment's  time,  would  make  a  pretty 
stock,  a  little  golden  treasury,  as  one  may  say,  from  new- 
year's  day  to  new-year's  day  ;  and  if  children  were  brought 
up  to  it,  they  would  come  to  look  for  their  text  as  naturally 
as  they  do  for  their  breakfast.     No  laboring  man,  'tis  true, 
has  so  much  leisure  as  a  shepherd,  for  while  the  flock  is 
feeding  I  am  obliged  to  be  still,  and  at  such   times  1  can 
now  and  then  tap  a  shoe  for  my  children  or  myself,  which 
is  a  great  saving  to  us,  and  while  I  am  doing  that  I  repeat 
a  chapter  or  a  Psalm,  which  makes  the  time  pass  pleasantlv 
in  this  wild  solitary  place.     I  can  say  the  best  part  of  the 
New  Testament  by  heart :  I  believe  I  should  not  say  the 
best  part,  for  every  part  is  good,  but  I  mean  the  greatest 
part.     I  have  led  but  a  lonely  life,  and  have  often  had  but 
little  to  eat,  but  my  Bible  has  been  meat,  drink,  and  com- 
pany to  me,  as  I  may  say,  and  when  want  and  trouble  have 
come  upon  me,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  in 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  13 

deed,  sir,  if  I  had  not  had  the  promises  of  this  book  for  my 
stay  and  support." 

"  You  have  had  great  difficulties  then?"  said  Mr.  Johnson. 
"  Why,  as  to  that,  sir,  not  more  than  neighbors'  fare  ;  I  have 
hut  little  cause  to  complain,  and  much  to  be  thankful  ;  but 
1  have  had  some  little  struggles,  as  I  will  leave  you  to  judge. 
I  have  a  wife  and  eight  children,  whom  I  bred  up  in  that 
little  cottage  which  you  see  under  the  hill,  about  half  a  mile 
off."  "  What,  that  with  the  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
chimney  i"  said  the  gentleman.  "  Oh  no,  sir,"  replied  the 
shepherd,  smiling,  "  we  have  seldom  smoke  in  the  evening, 
for  we  have  little  to  cook,  and  firing  is  very  dear  in  these 
parts.  'Tis  that  cottage  which  you  see  on  the  left  hand  of 
the  church,  near  that  little  tuft  of  hawthorns."  "What, 
that  hovel  with  only  one  room  above  an  1  below,  with 
scarcely  any  chimney  \  how  is  it  possible  that  you  can  live 
there  with  such  a  family?"  "Oli,  it  is  very  possible,  and 
very  certain  too,"  cried  the  shepherd.  "  How  many  better 
men  have  been  worse  lodged  !  how  many  good  Christians 
have  perished  in  prisons  and  dungeons,  in  comparison  of 
which  my  cottage  is  a  palace  !  The  house  is  very  well, 
sir;  and  if  the  rain  did  not  sometimes  beat  down  upon  us 
through  the  thatch  when  we  are  a-bed,  I  should  not  desire 
a  better;  for  I  have  health,  peace,  and  liberty,  and  no  man 
maketh  me  afraid." 

"  Well,  I  will  certainly  call  on  you  before  it  be  long  ;  but 
how  can  you  contrive  to  lodge  so  many  children  ?"  "  We 
do  the  best  we  can,  sir.  My  poor  wife  is  a  very  sickly 
woman,  or  we  should  always  have  done  tolerably  well. 
There  are  no  gentry  in  the  parish,  so  that  she  has  not  met 
with  any  great  assistance  in  her  sickness.  The  good  curate 
of  the  parish,  who  lives  in  that  pretty  parsonage  in  the. 
valley,  is  very  willing,  but  not  very  able  to  assist  us  on 
these  trying  occasions,  for  he  has  little  enough  for  himself, 


14  THE     S-HEP  HERD 

and  a  large  family  into  the  bargain.  Yet  lie  does  what  ho 
can,  and  more  than  many  other  men  do,  and  more  than  he 
can  well  afford.  Besides  that,  his  prayers  and  good  advice 
we  are  always  sure  of,  and  we  are  truly  thankful  for  that, 
for  a  man  must  give,  you  know,  sir,  according  to  what  he 
hath,  and  not  according  to  what  he  hath  not." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  that  your  difficulties 
may  sometimes  lead  you  to  repine." 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd,  "it  pleases  God  to  give 
me  two  ways  of  bearing  up  under  them.  I  pray  that  they 
may  be  either  removed  or  sanctified  to  me.  Besides,  if  my 
road  be  right,  I  am  contented,  though  it  be  rough  and  un- 
even. I  do  not,  so  much  stagger  at  hardships  in  the  right 
way,  as  I  dread  a  false  security,  and  a  hollow  peace,  while 
I  may  be  walking  in  a  more  smooth,  but  less  safe  way. 
Besides,  sir,  I  strengthen  my  faith  by  recollecting  what  the 
best  men  have  suffered,  and  my  hope,  with  the  view  of  the 
shortness  of  all  suffering.  It  is  a  good  hint,  sir,  of  the  van- 
ity of  all  earthly  possessions,  that  though  the  whole  Land  of 
Promise  was  his,  yet  the  first  bit  of  ground  which  Abraham, 
the  father  of  the  faithful,  got  possession  of,  in  the  land  of 
Canaan,  was  a  grave." 

"  Are  you  in  any  distress  at  present  ?"  said  Mr.  Johnson. 
"  No,  sir,  thank  God,"  replied  the  shepherd,  "  I  get  my  shil- 
ling a-day,  and  most  of  my  children  will  soon  be  able  to 
earn  something ;  for  we  have  only  three  under  five  years 
old.".  "  Only  !"  said  the  gentleman,  "  that  is  a  heavy  burden." 
"  Not  at  all ;  God  fits  the  back  to  it.  Though  my  wife  is 
not  able  to  do  any  out-of-door  work,  yet  she  breeds  up  our 
children  to  such  habits  of  industry,  that  our  little  maids,  be- 
fore they  are  six  years  old,  can  first  get  a  half-penny,  and 
then  a  penny  a  day  by  knitting.  The  boys,  who  are  too 
little  to  do  hard  work,  get  a  trifle  by  keeping  the  birds  off 
the  corn ;  for  this  the  farmers  will  give  them  a  penny  or 


OF    SALISBURY     PLAIN.  15 

two  pence,  and  now  and  then  a  bit  of  bread  and  cheese  in- 
to the  bargain.  -  When  the  season  of  crow-keeping  is  over, 
then  they  glean  or  pick  stones;  any  tiling  is  better  than 
idleness,  sir,  and  if  they  did  not  get  a  farthing  by  it,  I  would 
make  l  hem  do  it  just  the  same,  for  the  sake  of  giving  them 
early  habits  of  labor. 

"  So  you  see^  sir,  I  am  not  so  badly  off  as  mauy  are  ;  nay, 
if  it  were  not  that  it  costs  me  so  much  iu  'pothecary's  stuff 
for  my  poor  wife,  I  should  reckon  myself  well  off;  nay  I  do 
reckon  myself  well  off,  for  blessed  be  God,  he  has  granted 
her  life  to  my  prayers,  and  I  would  work  myself  to  a  'nato- 
lny,  and  live  on  one  meal  a  day,  to  add  any  comfort  to  her 
valuable  life  ;  indeed  I  have  often  done  the  last,  and  thought 
it  no  great  matter  neither." 

While  they  were  in  this  part  of  the  discourse,  a  fine 
plump  cherry- cheek  little  girl  ran  up  out  of  breath,  with  a 
smile  on  her  young  happy  face,  and  without  taking  any 
notice  of  the  gentleman,  cried  out  with  great  joy — "Look 
here,  father,  only  see  how  much  I  have  got !"  Mr.  Johnson 
was  much  struck  with  her  simplicity,  but  puzzled  to  know 
what  was  the  occasion  of  this  great  joy.  On  looking  at  her 
he  perceived  a  small  quantity  of  coarse  wool,  some  of  which 
had  found  its  way  through  the  holes  of  her  clean,  but  scanty 
and  ragged  woolen  apron.  The  father  said,  "This  has  been 
a  successful  day  indeed,  Molly,  but  don't  you  see  the  gen- 
tleman ?"  Molly  now  made  a  courtesy  down  to  the  very 
ground;  while  Mr.  Johnson  inquired  into  the  cause  of  mu- 
tual satisfaction  which  both  father  and  daughter  had  ex- 
pressed, at  the  unusual  good  fortune  of  the  day. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  poverty  is  a  great  sharpener  of 
the  wits.  My  wife  and  I  can  not  endure  to  see  our  children 
(poor  as  they  are)  without  shoes  and  stockings  nut  only  on 
account  of  the  pinching  cold  which  cramps  their  poor  Utile 
limbs,  but  because  it  degrades  and  debascf  them  :  and  poor 


16  THE     SHEPHERD 

people  who  have  but  little  regard  to  appearances,  will  seldom 
be  found  to  have  any  great  regard  for  honesty  and  goodness  ;  I 
don't  say  this  is  always  the  case ;  but  I  am  sure  it  is  too  often. 
Now  shoes  and  stockings  being  very  dear,  we  could  never 
afford  to  get  them  without  a  little  contrivance.  I  must 
show  you  how  I  manage  about  the  shoes  when  you  conde- 
scend to  call  at  our  cottage,  sir  ;  as  to  stockings,  this  is  one 
way  we  take  to  help  to  get  them.  My  young  ones,  who 
are  too  little  to  do  much  work,  sometimes  wander  at  odd 
hours  over  the  hills  for  the  chance  of  finding  what  little 
wool  the  sheep  may  drop  when  they  rub  themselves,  as  they 
are  apt  to  do,  against  the  bushes*  These  scattered  bits  of 
wool  the  children  pick  out  of  the  brambles,  which  I  see 
have  torn  sad  holes  in  Molly's  apron  to-day;  they  cany  this 
wool  home,  and  when  they  have  got  a  pretty  parcel  together, 
their  mother  cards  it ;  for  she  can  sit  and  card  in  the  chim- 
ney corner,  when  she  is  not  able  to  wash  or  work  about  the 
house.  The  biggest  girl  then  spins  it ;  it  does  very  well  for 
us  without  dyeing,  for  poor  people  must  not  stand  for  the 
color  of  their  stockings.  After  this  our  little  boys  knit 
it  for  themselves,  while  they  are  employed  in  keeping  cows 
in  the  fields,  and  after  they  get  home  at  night.  As  for  the 
knitting  which  the  girls  and  their  mother  do,  that  is  chiefly 
for  sale,  which  helps  to  pay  our  rent." 

Mr.  Johnson  lifted  up  his  eyes  in  silent  astonishment  at  the 
shifts  which  honest  poverty  can  make  rather  than  beg  or 
steal  ;  and  was  surprised  to  think  how  many  ways  of  sub- 
sisting there  are,  which  those  who  live  at  their  ease  little 
suspect  He  secretly  resolved  to  be  more  attentive  to  his 
own  petty  expenses  than  he  had  hitherto  been ;  and  to  be 
more  watchful  that  nothing  was  wasted  in  his  family. 

*  This  piece  of  frugal  industry  is  not  imaginary,  but  a  real  fuel, 
as  is  the  character  of  the  shepherd,  and  his  uncommon  knowledge 
of  the  Scriptures. 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  17 

But  to  return  to  the  shepherd.  Mr.  Johnson  told  him 
that  as  he  must  needs  be  at  his"  friend's  house,  who  lived 
many  miles  off,  that  night,  he  could  not,  as  he  wished  to  do, 
make  a  visit  to  his  cottage  at  present.  "  But  I  will  certain- 
ly do  it,"  said  he,  "  on  my  return,  for  I  long  to  see  your  wife 
and  her  nice  little  family,  and  to  be  an  eye-witness  of  her 
neatness  and  good  management."  The  poor  man's  tears 
started  into  his  eyes  on  hearing  the  commendation  bestowed 
on  his  wife  ;  and  wiping  them  off  with  the  sleeve  of  his 
coat,  for  he  was  not  worth  a  handkerchief  in  the  world,  he 
said,  "  Oh,  sir,  you  just  now,  I  am  afraid,  called  me  an  hum- 
ble man,  but  indeed  I  am  a  very  proud  one."  "  Proud !" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Johnson,  "  I  hope  not.  Pride  is  a  great  sin, 
and  as  the  poor  are  liable  to  it  as  well  as  the  rich,  so  good 
a  man  as  you  seem  to  be  ought  to  guard  against  it,"  "  Sir," 
said  he,  "  you're  right,  but  I  am  not  proud  of  myself,  God 
knows  I  have  nothing  to  be  proud  of.  I  am  a  poor  sinner; 
but  indeed,  sir,  I  am  proud  of  my  wife  :  she  is  not  only  the 
most  tidy,  notable  woman  on  the  plain,  but  she  is  the  kind- 
est wife  and  mother,  and  the  most  contented,  thankful 
Christian  that  I  know.  Last  year  I  thought  I  should  have 
lost  her  in  a  violent  fit  of  the  rheumatism,  caught  by  going 
to  work  too  soon  after  her  lying-in,  I  fear ;  for  'tis  but  a 
bleak,  coldish  place,  as  you  may  see,  sir,  in  winter,  and 
sometimes  the  snow  lies  so  long  under  the  hill,  that  I  can 
hardly  make  myself  a  path  to  get  out  and  buy  a  few  neces- 
saries in  the  village ;  and  we  are  afraid  to  send  out  the 
children,  for  fear  they  should  be  lost  when  the  snow  is  deep. 
So,  as  I  was  saving,  ihe  poor  soul  was  very  bad  indeed,  and 
for  several  weeks  lost  the  use  of  all  her  limbs  except  her 
hands  ;  a  merciful  Providence  spared  her  the  use  of  these, 
so  that  wlnii  she  could  not  turn  in  her  beJ,  she  could  con- 
trive to  patch  a  rag  or  two  for  her  family.  She  was  always 
saying,  had  it  not  been  for  the  great  goodness  of  God,  sho 


18  THE     SHEPHERD 

might  have  her  hands  lame  as  well  as  her  feet,  or  the  palsy 
instead  of  the  rheumatism,  and  then  she  could  have  done 
nothing — but,  nobody  had  so  many  mercies  as  she  ha  I. 

"I  will  not  tell  you  what  we  suffered  during  the  bitter 
weather,  sir,  but  my  wife's  faith  and  patience  during  that 
trying  time,  were  as  good  a  lesson  to  me  as  any  sermon  I 
could  hear,  and  yet  Mr.  Jenkins  gave  us  very  comfortable 
ones  too,  that  helped  to  keep  up  my  spirits." 

"  I  fear,  shepherd,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  you  have  found  this 
to  be  but  a  bad  world." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd,  "  but  it  is  governed  by  a 
good  God.  And  though  my  trials  have  now  and  then  been 
sharp,  why  then,  sir,  as  the  saying  is,  if  the  pain  be  violent, 
it  is  seldom  lasting,  and  if  he  but  moderate,  why  then  we 
can  bear  it  the  longer,  and  when  it  is  quite  taken  away,  ease 
is  the  more  precious,  and  gratitude  is  quickened  by  the  re- 
membrance ;  thus  every  way,  and  in  every  case,  I  can  al- 
ways find  out  a  reason  for  vindicaling  Providence." 

"  But,"  s.ii.l  Mr.  Johnson,  "  how  do  you  do  to  support  your- 
self under  the  pressure  of  actual  want.  Is  not,  hunger  a 
great  weakener  of  your  faith  ?" 

"Sir,"  replied  the  shepherd,  "  I  endeavor  to  live  upon  the 
promises.  You,  who  abound  in  the  good  things  of  this 
world,  are  apt  to  set  too  high  a  value  on  them.  Suppose, 
sir,  the  king,  seeing  me  at  hard  work,  were  to  say  to  me, 
that  if  I  would  patiently  work  on  till  Christmas,  a  fine 
palace  and  a  great  estate  should  be  the  reward  of  my  labors. 
Do  you  think,  sir,  that  a  little  hunger,  or  a  little  wet,  would 
make  me  flinch,  when  I  was  sure  that  a  few  months  would 
put  me  in  possession!  Should  I  not  sav  to  myself  frequent- 
ly— cheer  up,  shepherd,  'tis  but  till  Christmas  !  Now  is  there 
not  much  less  difference  between  this  supposed  day  and 
Christmas,  when  I  should  take  possession  of  the  estate  and 
palace,  than  there  is  between  time  and  eternity,  when  I  am 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  19 

sure  of  entering'  on  a  kino-dorn  not  made  with  hands  ? 
There  is  some  comparison  between  a  moment  and  a  thou- 
sand years,  because  a  thousand  years  are  made  up  of  mo- 
ments, all  time  being  made  up. of  the  same  sort  of  stuff,  as 
I  may  say ;  while  there  is  no  sort  of  comparison  between 
the  longest  portion  of  time  and  eternity.  You  know,  sir, 
there  is  no  way  of  measuring  two  things,  one  of  which  has 
length  and  breadth,  which  shows  it  must  have  an  end  some- 
where, and  another  thing,  which  being  eternal,  is  without 
end  and  without  measure." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  is  not  the  fear  of  death  some- 
times too  strong  for  your  faith  V 

"  Blessed  be  God,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd,  "  the  dark  pas- 
sage through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  is  made 
safe  by  the  power  of  him  who  conquered  death.  I  know, 
indeed,  we  shall  go  as  naked  out  of  this  world  as  we  came 
into  it,  but  an  humble  penitent  will  not  be  found  naked  in 
the  other  world,  sir.  My  Bible  tells  me  of  garments  of 
praise  and  robes  of  righteousness.  And  is  it  not  a  support, 
sir,  under  any  of  the  petty  difficulties  and  distresses  here,  to 
be  assured  by  the  word  of  him  who  can  not  lie,  that  those 
who  were  in  wdiite  Tobes  came  out  of  tribulation  ?  But, 
sir,  T  beg  your  pardon  for  being  so  talkative.  Indeed  you 
great  folks  can  hardly  imagine  how  it  raises  and  cheers  a 
poor  man's  heart  when  such  as  you  condescend  to  talk  fa- 
miliarly to  him  on  religious  subjects.  It  seeirs  to  be  a 
practical  comment  on  that  text  which  says,  the  rich,  and  the 
poor  meet  together,  the  Lord  is  the  maker  of  them  all. 
And  so  far  from  creating  disrespect,  sir,  and  that  nonsensi- 
cal wicked  notion  about  equality,  it  rather  prevents  i".  But 
to  turn  to  my  wife.  One  Sunday  afternoon  when  she  was 
at  the  worst,  as  I  was  coining  out  of  church,  for  I  went  one 
part  of  the  day,  and  my  eldest  daughter  the  other,  so  my  poor 
wife  was  never  left  alone  ;  as  I  was  coming  out  of  church, 


20  THE     SHEPHERD 

T  say,  Mr.  Jenkins,  the  minister,  called  out  to  me  and  asked 
me  how  my  wife  did,  saying  he  had  been  kept  from  coming 
to  see  her  by  the  deep  fall  of  snow,  and  indeed  from  the 
parsonage-house  to  my  hovel  it  was  quite  impassable.  I 
gave  him  all  the  particulars  he  asked,  and  I  am  afraid  a 
good  many  more,  for  my  heart  was  quite  full.  He  kindly 
gave  me  a  shilling,  and  said  he  would  certainly  try  to  pick 
out  his  way  and  come  and  see  her  in  a  day  or  two. 

"  While  he  was  talking  to  me  a  plain  farmer-looking  gen- 
tleman in  boots,  who  stood  by  listened  to  all  T  said,  but 
seemed  to  take  no  notice.  It  was  Mr.  Jenkins's  wife's  father, 
who  was  come  to  pass  the  Christmas-holidays  at  the  par- 
sonage-house. I  had  always  heard  him  spoken  of  as  a  plain 
frugal  man,  who  lived  close  himself,  but  was  remarked  to 
give  away  more  than  any  of  his  show-away  neighbors. 

"  Well !  I  went  home  with  great  spirits  at  this  season- 
able and  unexpected  supply ;  for  we  had  tapped  our  last  six- 
pence, and  there  was  little  work  to  be  had  on  account  of  the 
weather ;  I  told  my  wife  I  had  not  come  back  empty-handed. 
'  No,  I  dare  say  not,'  says  she,  '  you "  have  been  serving  a 
master  who  filleth  the  hungry  with  good  things,  though  he 
sendeth  the  rich  empty  away.''  True,  Mary,  says  I,  we  sel- 
dom fail  to  get  good  spiritual  food  from  Mr.  Jenkins,  but 
to-day  he  has  kindly  supplied  our  bodily  wants.  She  was 
more  thankful  when  I  showed  her  the  shilling,  than,  I  dare 
say,  some  of  your  great  people  are  when  they  get  a  hun- 
dred pounds." 

Mr.  Johnson's  heart  smote  him  when  he  heard  such  a 
value  set  upon  a  shilling;  surely,  said  he  to  himself,  I  will 
never  waste  another  ;  but  he  said  nothing  to  the  shepherd, 
who  thus  pursued  his  story  : 

"  Next  morning  before  I  went  out,  I  sent  part  of  the  mo- 
ney to  buy  a  little  ale  and  brown  sugar  to  put  into  her  wa- 
ter-gruel ;  which  you  know,  sir,  made  it  nice  and  nourishing. 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  21 

I  went  out  to  cleave  wood  in  a  farm-yard,  for  there  was  no 
standing  out  on  the  plain,  after  such  snow  as  had  fallen  in  the 
night.  I  went  with  a  lighter  heart  than  usual,  because  I 
had  left  my  poor  wife  a  little  better,  and  comfortably  sup- 
plied for  this  day,  and  I  now  resolved  more  than  ever  to  trust 
God  for  the  supplies  of  the  next.  When  I  came  back  at 
night,  my  wife  fell  a  crying  as  soon  as  she  saw  me.  This, 
I  own,  I  thought  but  a  bad  return  for  the  blessings  she  had 
so  lately  received,  and  so  I  told  her, — '  Oh,'  said  she,  '  it  is 
too  much,  we  are  too  rich ;  I  am  now  frightened,  not  lest 
we  should  have  no  portion  in  this  world,  but  for  fear  we 
should  have  our  whole  portion  in  it.  Look  here,  John  !' 
So  saying,  she  uncovered  the  bed  whereon  she  lay,  and 
showed  me  two  warm,  thick,  new  blankets.  I  could  not  be- 
lieve my  own  eyes,  sir,  because  when  I  went  out  in  the 
morning,  I  had  left  her  with  no  other  coverinc?  than  our 
little  old  thin  blue  rug.  I  was  still  more  amazed  when  she 
put  half  a  crown  into  my  hand,  telling  me,  she  had  had  a 
visit  from  Mi1.  Jenkins,  and  Mr.  Jones,  the  latter  of  whom 
had  bestowed  all  these  good  things  upon  us.  Thus,  sir, 
have  our  lives  been  crowned  with  mercies.  My  wife  got 
about  again,  and  I  do  believe,  under  Providence,  it  was 
owing  to  these  comforts;  for  the  rheumatism,  sir,  without 
blankets  by  night,  and  flannel  by  day,  is  but  a  baddish  job, 
especially  to  people  who  have  little  or  no  fire.  She  will  al- 
ways be  a  weakly  body  ;  but  thank  God  her  soul  prospers 
and  is  in  health.  But  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  talking 
on  at  this  rate."  "  Not  at  all,  uot  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Johnson  ; 
"I  am  much  pleased  with  your  story  ;  you  shall  certainly  see 
me  in  a  few  days.  Good  night."  So  saving,  he  slipped  a 
crown  into  his  hand  and  rode  off.  Surely,  said  the  shep- 
herd, goodness  and  mercy  have  followed  me  all  the  days  of 
my  life,  as  he  gave  the  money  to  his  wife  when  he  got 
home  at  night. 


22  THE     SHEPHERD 

As  to  Mr.  Johnson,  he  found  abundant  matter  for  his 
thoughts  dining  the  rest  of  his  journey.  On  the  whole,  he 
was  more  disposed  to  envy  than  to  pity  the  shepherd.  I 
have  seldom  seen,  said  he,  so  happy  a  man.  It  is  a  sort  of 
happiness  which  the  world  could  not  give,  and  which,  I 
plainly  see,  it  has  not  been  able  to  take  away.  This  must 
be  the  true  spirit  of  religion.  I  see  more  and  more,  that 
true  goodness  is  not  merely  a  thing  of  words  and  opinions, 
but  a  living  principle  brought  into  every  common  action  of 
a  man's  life.  What  else  could  have  supported  this  poor 
couple  under  every  bitter  trial  of  want  and  sickness  ?  No, 
my  honest  shepherd,  I  do  not  pity,  but  I  respect  and  even 
honor  thee  ;  and  I  will  visit  thy  poor  hovel  on  my  return  to 
Salisbury,  with  as  much  pleasure  as  I  am  now  going  to  tho 
house  of  my  friend. 

If  Mr.  Johnson  keeps  his  word  in  sending  me  an  account 
of  his  visit  to  the  shepherd's  cottage,  I  will  be  very  glad  to 
entertaiu  my  readers  with  it. 


PART    II. 

I  am  willing  to  hope  that  my  readers  will  not  be  sorry 
to  hear  some  further  particulars  of  their  old  acquaintance, 
the  Shepherd  of  Salisbury  Plain.  They  will  call  to  mind 
that  at  the  end  of  the  first  part,  he  was  returning  home  full 
of  gratitude  for  the  favors  he  had  received  from  Mr.  Johnson, 
whom  we  left  pursuing  his  journey,  after  having  promised 
to  make  a  visit  to  the  shepherd's  cottage. 

Mr.  Johnson,  after  having  passed  some  time  with  his 
friend,  set  out  on  his  return  to  Salisbury,  and  on  the  Satur- 
day evening  reached  a  very  small  inn,  a  mile  or  two  distant 
from  the  shepherd's  village ;   for    he  never  traveled  on  a 


OF     SALISBURY    PLAIN.  23 

Sunday  without  such  a  reason  as  he  might  be  able  to  pro- 
duce at  the  day  of  judgment.  He  went  the  next  morning 
to  the  church  nearest  the  house  where  he  had  passed  the 
night,  and  after  taking  such  refreshment  as  he  could  get  at 
tha'  house,  he  walked  on  to  find  out  the  shepherd's  cottage. 
His  reason  for  visiting  him  on  a  Sunday  was  chiefly  because 
he  supposed  it  to  be  the  only  day  which  the  shepherd's  em- 
ployment allowed  him  to  pass  at  home  with  his  family  ;  and 
as  Mr.  Johnson  had  been  struck  with  his  talk,  he  thought  it 
would  be  neither  unpleasant  nor  unprofitable  to  observe  how 
a  man  who  carried  such  an  appearance  of  piety  spent  his 
Sunday :  for  though  he  was  so  low  in  the  world,  this  gen- 
tleman was  not  above  entering  very  closely  into  his  char-, 
acter,  of  which  he  thought  he  should  be  able  to  form  a 
better  judgment,  by  seeing  whether  his  practice  at  home 
kept  pace  with  his  professions  abroad  :  for  it  is  not  so  much 
by  observing  how  people  talk,  as  how  they  live,  that  we 
ought  to  judge  of  their  characters. 

After  a  pleasant  walk,  Mr.  Johnson  got  within  sight  of 
the  cottage,  to  which  he  was  directed  by  the  clump  of  haw- 
thorns and  the  broken  chimney.  He  wished  to  take  the 
family  by  surprise ;  and  walking  gently  up  to  the  house  he 
stood  awhile  to  listen.  The  door  being  half  open,  he  saw 
the  shepherd  (who  looked  so  respectable  in  his  Sunday  coat 
that  he  should  hardly  have  known  him),  his  wife,  and  their 
numerous  young  family,  drawing  round  their  little  table, 
which  was  covered  with    a  clean,  though  very  coarse  cloth. 

There  stood  on  it  a  large  dish  of  potatoes,  a  brown  pitch- 
er, and  a  piece  of  a  coarse  loaf  The  wife  and  children 
stood  in  silent  alien, inn,  while?  the  shepherd,  with  uplifted 
hands  and  eyes,  devoutly  begged  the  blessing  of  heaven  on 
their  homely  fare.  Mr.  Johnson  could  not  help  sighing  to 
reflect,  that  he  had  sometimes  seen  better  dinners  eaten  with 
less  appearance  of  thankfulness. 


24  THE     SHEPHERD 

The  shepherd  and  his  wife  sat  down  with  great  seeming 
cheerfulness,  but  the  children  stood  ;  and  while  the  mother 
was  helping  them,  little  fresh-colored  Molly,  who  had  picked 
the  wool  from  the  bushes  with  so  much  delight,  cried  out, 
"  Father,  I  wish  I  was  big  enough  to  say  grace,  I  am  sure  I 
should  say  it  very  heartily  to-day,  for  I  was  thinking  what 
must  "poor  people  do  who  have  no  salt  to  their  potatoes ; 
and  do  but  look,  our  dish  is  quite  full."  "  That  is  the  true 
way  of  thinking,  Molly,"  said  the  father ;  "  in  whatever  con- 
cerns bodily  wants  and  bodily  comforts,  it  is  our  duty  to 
compare  our  own  lot  with  the  lot  of  those  who  are  worse  off, 
and  will  keep  us  thankful :  on  the  other  hand,  whenever  we 
_are  tempted  to  set  up  our  own  wisdom  or  goodness,  we  must 
compare  ourselves  with  those  who  are  wiser  and  better,  and 
that  will  keep  us  humble."  Molly  was  now  so  hungry,  and 
found  the  potatoes  so  good,  that  she  had  no  time  to  make 
any  more  remarks;  but  was  devouring  her  dinner  very 
heartily,  when  the  barking  of  the  great  dog  drew  her  at- 
tention from  her  trencher  to  the  door,  and  spying  the  stran- 
ger, she  cried  out,  "  Look,  father,  see  here,  if  yonder  is  not 
the  good  gentleman  !"  Mr.  Johnson  finding  himself  discov- 
ered, immediately  walked  in,  and  was  heartily  welcomed 
by  the  honest  shepherd,  who  told  his  wife  that  this  was  the 
gentleman  to  whom  they  were  so  much  obliged. 

The  good  woman  began,  as  some  very  neat  people  are 
rather  apt  to  do,  with  making  many  apologies  that  her 
house  was  not  cleaner,  and  that  things  were  not  in  a  fitter 
order  to  receive  such  a  gentleman.  Mr.  Johnson,  however, 
on  looking  round,  could  discover  nothing  but  the  most  per- 
fect neatness.  The  trenchers  on  which  they  were  eating 
were  almost  as  white  as  their  linen;  and  notwithstanding 
the  number  and  smallness  of  the  children,  there  was  not 
the  least  appearance  of  dirt  or  litter.  The  furniture  was 
very  simple  and  poor,  hardly  indeed  amounting  to  bare 


0  K     BALIS  IS  V  K  V     V  L  A  IN  .  25 

necessaries.  It  consisted  of  lour  brown  wooden  chairs,  which 
by  constant  ruKbing,  were  become  as  bright  as  a  lookiug- 
glass  ;  au  iron  pot  and  kettle  ;  a  poor  old  grate,  which 
scarcely  held  a  handful  of  coal,  and  out  of  which  the  little 
fire  that  had  been  in  it  appeared  to  have  been  taken,  as  soon 
as  it  had  answered  the  end  for  which  it  had  been  lighted — 
that  of  boiling  their  potatoes.  Over  the  chimney  stood  an 
old-fashioned  broad  bright  candlestick,  and  a  still  brighter 
spit ;  it  was  pretty  clear  that  this  last  was  kept  rather  for 
ornament  than  use.  An  old  carved  elbow  chair,  and  a  chest 
of  the  same  date,  which  stood  in  the  corner,  were  consider- 
ed the  most  valuable  part  of  the  shepherd's  goods,  having 
been  in  his  family  for  three  generations.  But  all  these 
were  lightly  esteemed  by  him  in  comparison  of  another 
possession,  which,  added  to  the  above,  made  up  the  whole 
of  what  he  had  inherited  from  his  father :  and  which  last 
he  would  not  have  parted  with,  if  no  other  could  have  been 
had,  for  the  king's  ransom  :  this  was  a  large  old  Bible,  which 
lay  on  the  window-seat,  neatly  covered  with  brown  cloth, 
variously  patched.  This  sacred  book  was  most  reverently 
preserved  from  dog's  ears,  dirt,  and  every  other  injury  but 
such  as  time  and  much  use  had  made  it  suffer  in  spite  of 
care.     On  the  dean  white  walls  were  i  a  hymn  on  the 

Crucifixion  of  our  Saviour,  a  print  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  the 
Shepherd's  hymn,  a  New  History  of  a  True  Book,  an 
Patient  Joe, or  the  Newcastle  Collier.* 

After  the  first  salutations  were   over,  Mr.  Johnson  said 
thai  if  they  would  go  on  with  their  dinner  he  would  sit  down. 
Though  a  good  deal  ashamed,  they  thought  it  more  respect- 
ful to  obey  the  gentleman,  who  having  east,  his  eye  on  their 
!  mm  i-  provisions,  gently  rebuked  the  shepherd  for  not  hav- 
ing indulged  himself,  as  it  was  Sunday,  with  a  morsel  of  ba- 
con to  relish  his  potatoes.    The  shepherd  said  nothing,  but 
*  Printed  for  the  Cheap  Repository. 
2 


26  X  II  E     8  II  E  1-  II  E  Rl) 

poor  Mary  colored  ;ui<l  hung  down  her  head,  saying,  "In- 
deed, sir,  it  is  not  my  fault;  I  did  beg  my  husband  to  allow 
himself  a  bit  of  meat  to-day  out  of  your  honor's  bounty  ; 
but  he  was  too  good  to  do  it,  and  it  is  all  for  my  sake." 
The  shepherd  seemed  unwilling  to  come  to  an  explanation, 
but  Mr.  Johnson  desired  Mary  to  go  on.  So  she  continued  : 
"  You  must  know,  sir,  that  both  of  us,  next  to  a  sin,  dread 
a  debt,  and  indeed  in  some  cases  a  debt  is  a  sin  ;  but  with 
all  our  care  and  pains,  we  have  never  been  able  quite  to  pay 
off  the  doctor's  bill  for  that  bad  fit  of  rheumatism  which  I 
had  last  winter.  Now  when  you  were  pleased  to  give  my 
husband  that  kind  present  the  other  day,  I  heartily  desired 
him  to  buy  a  bit  of  meat  for  Sunday,  as  I  said  before,  that 
he  might  have  a  little  refreshment  for  himself  out  of  your 
kindness.  '  But,'  answered  he,  '  Mary,  it  is  never  out  of  my 
mind  long  together  that  we  still  owe  a  few  shillings  to  the 
doctor  (and  thank  God  it  is  all  we  did  owe  in  the  world). 
Now  if  I  carry  him  his  money  directly  it  will  not  only  show 
him  our  honesty  and  our  good-will,  but  it  will  be  an  en- 
couragement to  him  to  come  to  you  another  time  in  case 
you  should  be  taken  once  more  in  such  a  bad  fit ;  for  I  must 
own,'  added  my  poor  husband,  '  that  the  thought  of  your 
ing  so  terribly  ill  without  any  help,  is  the  only  misfortune 
hat  I  want  courage  to  face.' " 

Here  the  grateful  woman's  tears  ran  down  so  fastthatshe 
could  nut  go  on.  She  wiped  them  with  the  corner  of  her 
apron,  and  Imuibly  begged  pardon  for  making  so  free. 
'"Indeed,  sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "though  my  wife  is  full 
as  unwilling  to  be  in  debt  as  myself,  yet  I  could  hardly  pre- 
vail on  her  to  consent  to  my  paying  this  money  just  then, 
because  she  said  it  was  hard  I  should  not  have  a  taste  of 
the  gentleman's  bounty  myself.  But  for  once,  sir,  I  would 
have  my  own  way.  For  you  must  know,  as  I  pass  the  b< 
part  of  my  time  alone,  tending  my  sheep,  'tis  a  great  point 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  27 

with  rne,  sir,  to  got  comfortable  matter  for  my  own  thoughts  ; 
so  that  'tis  rather  self-interest  in  me  to  allow  myself  in  no 
pleasures  and  no  practices  that  won't  bear  thinking  on  over 
and  over.  For  when  one  is  a  good  deal  alone,  you  know,  sir, 
all  one's  bad  deeds  do  so  rash  in  upon  one,  as  I  may  say,  and 
so  torment  one,  that  there  is  no  true  comfort  to  be  had  but 
in  keeping  clear  of  wrong  doings  and  false  pleasures  ;  and 
that  I  suppose  may  be  one  reason  why  so  many  folks  hate 
to  stay  a  bit  by  themselves.  But  as  I  was  saying — when 
I  came  to  think  the  matter  over  on  the  hill  yonder,  said 
I  to  myself,  a  good  dinner  is  a  good  thing,  I  grant,  and  yet 
it  will  be  but  cold  comfort  to  me  a  week  after,  to  be  able 
to  say — to  be  sure  I  had  a  nice  shoulder  of  mutton  last 
Sunday  for  dinner,  thanks  to  the  good  gentleman  !  but  then 
I  am  in  debt.  I  had  a  rare  dinner,  that's  certain,  but  the 
pleasure  of  that  has  long  been  over,  and  the  debt  still  re- 
mains. I  have  spent  the  crown  ;  and  now  if  my  poor  wife 
should  be  taken  in  one  of  those  fits  again,  die  she  must,  un- 
less God  work  a  miracle  to  prevent  it,  for  I  can  get  no  help 
for  her.  This  thought  settled  all ;  and  I  set  off  directly 
and  paid  the  crown  to  the  doctor  with  as  much  cheerful- 
ness as  I  should  have  felt  on  sitting  down  to  the  fattest 
shoulder  of  mutton  that  ever  was  roasted.  And  if  I  was 
contented  at  the  time,  think  how  much  more  happy  I  have 
been  at  the  remembrance !  O,  sir,  there  are  no  pleasures 
worth  tin'  name  but  such  as  bring  no  plague  or  penitence 
after  them." 

Mr.  Johnson  was  satisfied  witli  the  shepherd's  reasons  , 
nd  agreed  that  though   a  good  dinner  was  not  to  be  de- 
spised, vet   it  was  not  worthy  to  he  compared  with  a  con- 
tented  mind,  which  (as  the.  Bible  truly  says)  is  a  continual 

feast.     "Bui  come," said  the  g 1  gentleman,  "what  have 

we  got  in  this  brown  mug?"  "As  good  water,"  said  the 
shepherd,  "as  any  in  the  king's  dominions.     1  have  heard 


28  THE     SHEl'UEHD 

of  countries  beyond  sea,  in  which  there  is  no  wholesome 
water ;  nay,  I  have  been  myself  in  a  great  town  not  far  off, 
where  they  are  obliged  to  buy  all  the  water  which  they  get, 
while  a  good  Providence  sends  to  my  very  door  a  spring  as 
clear  and  fine  as  Jacob's  well.  When  I  am  tempted  to  re- 
pine that  I  have  often  no  other  drink,  I  call  to  mind  that 
it  was  notliing  better  than  a  cup  of  cold  water  which  the 
woman  at  the  well  of  Sychar  drew  for  the  greatest  guest 
that  ever  visited  this  world." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Johnson  ;  "  but  as  your  honesty 
has  made  you  prefer  a  poor  meal  to  being  in  debt,  I  will  at 
least  send  and  get  something  for  you  to  drink.  I  saw  a 
little  public  house  just  by  the  church,  as  I  came  along. 
Let  that  little  rosy-faced  fellow  fetch  a  mug  of  beer."  So 
saying,  he  looked  full  at  the  boy,  who  did  not  offer  to  stir ; 
but  cast  an  eye  at  his  father  to  know  what  he  was  to  do. 
"Sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "I  hope  we  shall  not  appear  un- 
grateful if  we  seem  to  refuse  your  favor ;  my  little  boy 
would,  I  am  sure,  fly  to  serve  you  on  any  other  occasion. 
But,  good  sir,  it  is  Sunday ;  and  should  any  of  my  family 
be  seen  at  a  public  house  on  a  Sabbath-day,  it  would  be  a 
much  greater  grief  to  me  than  to  drink  water  all  my  life. 
I  am  often  talking:  against  these  doing  to  others ;  and  if  I 
should  say  one  thing  and  do  another,  you  can't  think  what 
an  advantage  it  would  give  many  of  my  neighbors  over  me, 
who  would  be  glad  enough  to  report  that  they  had  caught 
the  shepherd's  son  at  the  alehouse  without  explaining  how 
it  happened.  Christians,  you  know,  sir,  must  be  doubly 
watchful ;  or  they  will  not  only  bring  disgrace  on  them- 
selves, but  what  is  much  worse,  on  that  holy  name  by  which 
they  ate  called." 

"Are  you  not  a  little  too  cautious,  my  honest  friend?" 
said  Mr.  Johnson.  "I  humbly  ask  your  pardon,  sir,"  re- 
plied  the  shepherd,   "  if  I  think   that  is  impossible.     In 


OP     SALISBURV     riAR.  29 

my  poor  notion,  I  no  more  understand  how  a  man  can  be 
too  cautious,  than  how  lie  can  be  too  strong,  or  too 
healthy." 

"  You  are  right  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  as  a  general 
principle,  but  this  struck  me  as  a  very  small  thing."  "  Sir," 
said  the  shepherd,  "  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me  very 
bold,  but  you  encourage  me  to  speak  out."  "  Tis  what  I 
wish,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  Then,  sir,"  resumed  the  shep- 
herd, "  I  doubt  if,  where  there  is  a  frequent  temptation  to 
do  wrong,  any  fault  can  be  called  small ;  that  is,  in  short, 
if  there  is  any  such  thing  as  a  small  willful  sin.  A  poor 
man  like  me  is  seldom  called  out  to  do  great  things,  so 
that  it  is  not  by  a  few  striking  deeds  his  character  can  be 
judged  by  his  neighbors,  but  by  the  little  round  of  daily 
customs  he  allows  himself  in." 

"I  should  like,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  ';to  know  how  you 
manage  in  this  respect." 

"I  am  but  a  poor  scholar,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd, 
"but  I  have  made  myself  a  little  sort  of  rule.  I  always 
avoid,  as  I  am  an  ignorant  man,  picking  out  any  one  single 
difficult  text  to  distress  my  mind  about,  or  to  go  and  build 
opinions  upon,  because  I  know  (hat  puzzles  and  injures  poor 
unlearned  Christians.  But  I  endeavor  to  collect  what  is  the 
general  spirit  or  meaning  of  Scripture  on  any  particular 
subject,  by  putting  a  few  texts  together,  which  though  I 
find  them  dispersed  up  and  down,  yet  all  seem  to  look  the 
same  way,  to  prove  the  same  truth,  or  hold  out  the  same 
comfort.  So  when  1  »jm  tried  or  tempted,  or  any  thing 
happens  in  which  1  am  at  a  loss  what  to  do,  T  apply  f"  m\ 
rule — to  tin'  law  and  the  testimony.  To  be  sure  I  can't 
always  find  a  particular  direction  as  to  the  very  case,  be- 
cause then  the  Bible  must  have  been  bigger  than  all  those 
great  books  I  once  saw  in  the  library  at  Salisbury  pala 
which  the  butler  told  me  were  acts  of  Parliament  ;  and  had 


30  THE     SHEPHERD 

that  been  the  case,  a  poor  man  would  never  have  had  mo- 
ney to  buy,  nor  a  working  man  time  to  read  the  Bible  ;  and 
so  Christianity  could  only  have  been  a  religion  for  the  rich, 
for  those  who  had  money  and  leisure ;  which,  blessed  be 
God!  is  so  far  from  being  the  truth,  that  in  all  that  line 
discourse  of  our  Saviour  to  John's  disciples,  it  is  enough  to 
reconcile  any  poor  man  in  the  world  to  his  low  condition, 
to  observe,  when  Christ  reckons  up  the  things  for  which  he 
came  on  earth,  to  observe,  I  say,  what  he  keeps  for  last. 
Go  tell  John,  says  he,  those  things  which  ye  do  hear  and 
see :  the  blind  receive  their  sight,  and  the  lame  walk,  the 
lepers  are  cleansed,  and  the  deaf  hear,  and  the  dead  are 
raised  up.  Now,  sir,  all  these  are  wonders  to  be  sure,  but 
they  are  nothing  to  what  follows.  They  are  but  like  the 
lower  rounds  of  a  ladder,  as  I  may  say,  by  which  you 
mount  to  the  top — and  the  poor  have  the  Gospel  preached 
to  them.  I  dare  say,  if  John  had  any  doubts  before,  this 
part  of  the  message  must  have  cleared  them  up  at  once. 
For  it  mu  t  have  made  him  certain  sure  at  once,  that  a 
religion  wh  i  h  placed  preaching  salvation  to  the  poor  above 
healing  the  : '  k,  which  ranked  the  soul  above  the  body,  and 
set  heaven  al    ve  health,  must  have  come  from  God." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  you  say  you  can  generally 
pick  out  your  p  rticular  duty  from  the  Bible,  though  that 
immediate  duty  be  not  fully  explained." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  r  plied  the  shepherd,  "  I  think  I  can  find 
out  the  principle  at  least,  if  I  bring  but  a  willing  mind. 
The  want  of  that  is  the  great  himlorance.  Whosoever  doe ih 
my  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine.  You  know  thai 
text,  sir.  I  believe  a  stubborn  will  makes  the  Bible  hard 
to  be  understood  than  any  want  of  learning.  'Tis  corrupt 
affections  which  blind  the  understanding,  sir.  The  more  a 
man  hates  sin,  the  clearer  he  will  see  his  way,  and  the  more 
he  loves  holiness,  the  better  he  will  understand  his  Bible — 


OF     SALISBURY    PLAIN.  31 

the  more  practical  conviction  will  lie  get  of  that  pleasant 
truth,  that  the  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear  him. 
Now,  sir,  suppose  I  had  time  and  learning,  and  possessed  of 
all  the  books  I  saw  at  the  bishop's,  where  could  I  find  out 
a  surer  way  to  lay  the  axe  to  the  root  of  all  covetousness, 
selfishness,  and  injustice,  than  the  plain  and  ready  rule,  to 
do  unto  all  men  as  I  would  they  should  do  unto  me.  If 
my  neighbor  does  me  an  injury,  can  I  be  at  any  loss  how 
to  proceed  with  him,  when  I  recollect  the  parable  of  the 
unforgiving  steward,  who  refused  to  pardon  a  debt  of  a 
huudred  pence,  when  his  own  ten  thousand  talents  had  been 
remitted  to  him  ?  I  defy  any  man  to  retain  habitual  self- 
ishness, hardness  of  heart,  or  any  other  allowed  sin,  who 
daily  and  conscientiously  tries  his  own  heart  by  this  touch- 
stone. The  straight  rule  will  show  the  crooked  practice  to 
every  one  who  honestly  tries  the  one  by  the  other." 

"  Why  you  seem  to  make  Scripture  a  thing  of  general 
application,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  in  cases  in  which  many,  I 
fear,  do  not  apply." 

"  It  applies  to  every  thing,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd. 
"  When  those  men  who  are  now  disturbing  the  peace  of  the 
world,  and  trying  to  destroy  the  confidence  of  God's  chil- 
dren in  their  Maker  and  their  Saviour;  when  those  men,  I 
say,  came  to  my  poor  hovel  with  their  new  doctrines  and 
their  new  books,  I  would  m  ver  look  into  one  of  them ;  for 
I  remember  it  was  the  first  sin  of  the  first  pair  to  lose  their 
innocence  for  tin'  sake  of  a  little  wicked  knowledge;  be- 
sides,  my  own  book  told  me — To  fear  God  and,  honor  the 
king — To  >n<>>';<'le  not  with  them  who  are  given  to  change — 
Not  to  speak  evil  of  dignities — To  render  honor  to  whom 
honor  is  due.  So  that  I  was  furnished  with  a  little  coat  of 
mail,  as  1  may  say,  which  pr<  me,  while  those  who 

had  no  such  armor  fell  into  tin;  snare." 

While  they  were  thus  talking,  the  children  who  had 


3L»  T  II  E     s  li  EPH  E  K  D 

stood  very  quietly  behind,  and  had  not  stirred  a  root,  now 
began  to  scamper  about  all  at  once,  and  in  a  moment  ran  to 
the  window-seat  to  pick  up  their  little  old  hats.  Mr.  Johnson 
looked  surprised  at  this  disturbance ;  the  shepherd  asked  his 
pardon,  telling  him  it  was  the  sound  of  the  church-bell  which 
had  been  the  cause  of  their  rudeness  ;  for  their  mother  had 
brought  them  up  with  such  a  fear  of  being  too  late  for 
church,  that  it  was  but  who  could  catch  the  first  stroke  of 
the  bell,  and  be  first  ready.  He  hail  always  taught  them 
to  think  that  nothing  was  more  indecent  than  to  get  into 
church  after  it  was  begun  ;  for  as  the  service  opened  with 
an  exhortation  to  repentance,  and  a  confession  of  sin,  it 
looked  very  presumptuous  not  to  feel  ready  to  join  it ;  it 
looked  as  if  people  did  not  feel  themselves  to  be  sinners. 
And  though  such  as  lived  at  a  great  distance  might  plead 
difference  of  clocks  as  an  excuse,  yet  those  who  lived 
within  the  sound  of  the  bell,  could  preteud  neither  ignor- 
ance nor  mistake. 

Mary  and  her  children  set  forward.  Mr.  Johnson  and 
the  shepherd  followed,  taking  care  to  talk  the  whole  way  on 
such  subjects  as  might  fit  them  for  the  solemn  duties  of  the 
place  to  which  they  were  going.  "  I  have  often  been  sorry 
to  observe,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  that  many  who  are  reckoned 
decent,  good  kind  of  people,  and  who  would  on  no  account 
neglect  going  to  church,  yet  seem  to  care  but  little  in  what 
frame  or  temper  of  mind  they  go  thither.  They  will  talk 
of  their  worldly  concerns  (ill  they  get  within  the  door,  and 
then  take  them  up  again  the  very  minute  the  sermon  is 
over,  which  makes  me  ready  to  fear  they  lay  too  much 
stress  on  the  mere  form  of  going  to  a  place  of  worship. 
Now,  for  my  part,  I  always  find  that  it  requires  a  little  lime 
to  bring  my  mind  into  a  state  fit  to  do  any  common  busi- 
ness well,  much  more  this  great  and  most  necessary  busi- 
ness of  all."     "  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd  ;  "  and  then 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  33 

I  think  too  how  busy  I  should  be  in  preparing-  my  mind,  if 
I  were  going  into  the  presence  of  a  great  gentleman,  or  a 
lord,  or  the  king  ;  and  shall  the  King  of  kings  be  treated 
with  less  respect  ?  Besides,  one  likes  to  see  people  feel  as 
if  going  to  church  was  a  thing  of  choice  and  pleasure,  as 
well  as  a  duty,  and  that  they  were  as  desirous  not  to  be 
the  last  there,  as  they  would  be  if  they  were  going  to  a  feast 
or  a  fair." 

After  service,  Mr.  Jenkins,  the  clergyman,  who  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  character  of  Mr.  Johnson,  and  had  a 
great  respect  for  him,  accosted  him  with  much  civility ;  ex- 
pressing his  concern  that  he  could  not  enjoy  just  now  so 
much  of  hit  conversation  as  he  wished,  as  he  was  obliged 
to  visit  a  sick  person  at  a  distance,  but  hoped  to  have  a  little 
talk  with  him  before  he  left  the  village.  As  they  walked 
along  together,  Mr.  Johnson  made  such  inquiries  about  the 
shepherd,  as  served  to  confirm  him  in  the  high  opinion  he 
entertained  of  his  piety,  good  sense,  industry,  and  self- 
denial.  They  parted ;  the  clergyman  promising  to  call  in 
at  the  cottage  in  his  way  home. 

The  shepherd,  who  took  it  for  granted  that  Mr.  John 
was  gone  to  the  parsonage,  walked  home  with  his  wife  and 
children,  and  was  beginning  in  his  usual  way  to  cat 
and  instruct  his  family,  when  Mr.  Johnson  came  in,  and  in- 
sisted that  the  shepherd  should  go  on  with  his  instruction 
just  as  if  he  were  not  there.  This  gentleman,  who  was 
very  desirous  of  being  useful  1<>  his  own  servants  and  work- 
men in  the  way  of  instruction,  was  sometimes  sorry  to  find 
that  though  lie  took  a  good  deal  of  pains,  they  now  and 
then  did  not  quite  understand  him;  for  though  liis  mean- 
ing was  in  '  -1,  his  language  was  nut  always  very  jilain; 
and  though  the  things  he  said  were  not  hard  to  be  under- 
stood, yet  the  ivords  were,  especially  to  such  as  were  very 
ignorant.     And  he  now  began   to   I'm  1   out  thai   if  people 

3* 


34  THE     SHEPHERD 

were  ever  so  wise  and  good,  yet  if  they  had  not  a  simple, 
agreeable,  and  familiar  way  of  expressing  themselves,  some 
of  their  plain  hearers  would  not  be  much  the  better  for 
them.  For  this  reason  he  was  not  above  listening  to  the 
plain,  humble  way  in  which  this  honest  man  taught  his 
family ;  for  though  he  knew  that  he  liimself  had  mauy  ad- 
vantages over  the  shepherd,  had  more  learning,  and  could 
teach  him  many  things,  yet  he  was  not  too  proud  to  learn 
even  of  so  poor  a  man,  in  any  point  where  he  thought  the 
shepherd  might  have  the  ail  vantage  of  him. 

This  gentleman  was  much  pleased  with  the  knowledge 
and  piety  which  he  discovered  in  the  answers  of  the  children : 
and  desired  the  shepherd  to  tell  him  how  he  contrived  to 
keep  up  a  sense  of  divine  tilings  in  his  own  mind,  and  in 
that  of  his  family,  with  so  little  leisure,  and  so  little  reading. 
"  Oh  !  as  to  that,  sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  we  do  not  read 
much  except  in  one  book,  to  be  sure  ;  but  with  my  hearty 
prayer  for  God's  blessing  on  the  use  of  that  book,  what 
little  knowledge  is  needful  seems  to  come  of  course,  as  it 
were.  And  my  chief  study  has  been  to  bring  the  fruits  of 
the  Sunday  reading  into  the  week's  business,  and  to  keep 
up  the  same  sense  of  God  in  the  heart,  when  the  Bible  is  in 
the  cupboard  as  when  it  is  in  the  hand.  In  short,  to  .apply 
what  I  read  in  the  book  to  what  I  meet  with  in  the  field." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  said  Mr.  Johnson.  "  Sir," 
replied  the  shepherd,  "  I  have  but  a  poor  gift  at  conv' 
these  things  to  others,  though  I  have  much  comfort  from 
them  in  my  own  mind;  but  I  am  sure  that  the  most  igno- 
rant and  hard-working  people,  who  are  in  earnest  about 
their  salvation,  may  help  to  keep  up  devout  thoiiL 
good  affections  during  the  week,  though  they  have  had 
hardly  any  time  to  look  at  a  book  ;  and  it  will  help  them  to 
keep  out  bad  thoughts  too;  which  is  no  small  i  But 

then  they  must  know  the  Bible ;  they  must  have  read  the 


OF     SALISBURY     P1AU.  3f> 

word  of  God  diligently,  that  is  a  kind  of  stock  in  trade  for  a 
Christian  to  set  up  with ;  and  it  is  this  which  makes  me  so 
careful  in  teaching  it  to  my  children ;  and  even  in  storing 
their  memories  with  Psalms  and  chapters.  This  is  a  great 
help  to  a  poor  bard-working  man,  who  will  scarcely  meet 
with  any  thing  in  them  but  what  he  may  turn  to  some  good 
account.  If  one  lives  in  the  fear  and  love  of  God,  almost 
every  thing  one  sees  abroad  will  teach  one  to  adore  his 
power  and  goodness,  and  bring  to  mind  some  text  of  Scrip- 
ture, which  shall  fill  his  heart  with  thankfulness,  and  his 
mouth  with  praise.  When  I  look  upward  the  Heavens 
declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  shall  I  be  silent  and  ungrate- 
ful ?  If  I  look  round  and  see  the  valleys  standing  thick 
with  corn,  how  can  I  help  blessing  that  Power  who  giveth 
me  all  things  richly  to  enjoy?  I  may  learn  gratitude  from 
the  beasts  of  the  field,  for  the  ox  knoweth  his  master,  and 
the  ass  his  master's  crib,  and  shall  a  Christian  uot  know, 
shall  a  Christian  not  consider  what  great  things  God  has 
done  for  him  ?  I,  who  am  a  shepherd,  endeavor  to  fill  my 
soul  with  a  constant  remembrance  of  that  good  shepherd, 
who  feedeth  me  in  green  pastxircs  and  maketh  me  to  lie 
down  beside  the  still  tvaters,  and  whose  rod,  and  staff  com- 
fort me.  A  religion,  sir,  which  has  its  seat  in  the  heart, 
and  its  fruits  in  the  life,  takes  up  little  time  in  the  study, 
and  yet  in  another  sense,  true  religion,  which  from  sound 
principles  brings  forth  right  practice,  fills  up  the  whole  timo 
and  life  too  as  one  may  say." 

"You  are  happy,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "in  this  retired  life, 
by  which  you  escape  the  corruptions  of  the  world."  "Sir," 
replied" the  shepherd,  "I  do  not  escape  the  corruptions  of 
my  own  evil  nature.  Even  there,  on  that  wild  solitary  hill, 
I  can  rind  out  that  my  heart  is  prone  to  evil  thoughts.  I 
suppose,  sir,  that  different  states  have  different  temptations. 
You  great  folks  that  live  in  the  world,  perhaps,  aro  exposed 


30  THE      SHEPHERD 

to  some  of  which  such  a  poor  man  as  I  am,  knows  nothing. 
But  to  one  who  leads  a  lonely  life  like  me,  evil  thoughts 
are  a  chief  besetting  sin;  and  I  can  no  more  withstand 
these  without  the  grace  of  God,  than  a  rich  gentleman  can 
withstand  the  snares  of  evil  company,  without  the  same 
grace.  And  I  find  that  I  stand  in  need  of  God's  help  con- 
tinually, and  if  he  should  give  me  up  to  my  own  evil  heart  I 
should  be  lost." 

Mr.  Johnson  approved  of  the  shepherd's  sincerity,  for  he 
had  always  observed,  that  where  there  was  no  humility,  and 
no  watchfulness  against  sin,  there  was  no  religion,  and  he 
said  that  the  man  who  did  not  feel  himself  to  be  a  sinner,  in 
his  opinion  coidd  not  be  a  Christian. 

Just  as  they  were  in  this  part  of  their  discourse,  Mr. 
Jenkins,  the  clergyman,  came  in.  After  the  usual  saluta- 
tions, he  said,  "  Well,  shepherd,  I  wish  you  joy :  I  know  you 
will  be  sorry  to  gain  any  advantage  by  the  death  of  a  neigh- 
bor ;  but  old  Wilson,  my  clerk,  was  so  infirm,  and  I  trust  so 
well  prepared,  that  there  is  no  reason  to  be  sorry  for  his 
death.  I  have  been  to  pray  by  him,  but  he  died  while  I 
staid.  I  have  always  intended  you  should  succeed  to  his 
place  :  it  is  no  great  matter  of  profit,  but  every  little  is  some- 
thing." 

"  JSTo  great  matter,  sir,"  cried  the  shepherd ;  "  indeed  it 
is  a  great  thing  to  me,  it  will  more  than  pay  my  rent. 
Blessed  be  God  for  all  his  goodness."  Mary  said  nothing, 
but  lifted  up  her  eyes  full  of  tears  in  silent  gratitude. 

"I  am  glad  of  this  little  circumstance,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins, 
"not  only  for  your  sake  but  for  the  sake  of  the  office  itself. 
I  so  heartily  reverence  every  religious  institution,  that  I 
would  never  have  the  amen  added  to  the  excellent  prayers 
of  our  church,  by  vain  or  profane  lips,  and  if  it  depended  on 
me,  there  should  be  no  such  thing  in  the  land  as  an  idle, 
drunken,  or   irreligious  parish  clerk.     Sorry  I  am  to  say 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  37 

that  this  inatter  is  Bot  always  sufficieBtly  attended  to,  and 
that  I  kBow  some  of  a  very  iBdiffereBt  character." 

Mr.  JohBson  bow  inquired  of  the  clergymaB  whether 
there  were  ruaay  children  in  the  parish.  "More  than  you 
would  expect,"  replied  he,  "  from  the  seemiBg  smallBess  of 
it;  hut  there  are  some  little  hamlets  which  you  do  not  see." 
"  I  think,"  returned  Mr.  Johnson,  "  I  recollect  that  in  the 
conversation  I  had  with  the  shepherd  on  the  hill  yonder,  he 
told  me  you  had  no  Sunday  School."  "  I  am  sorry  to 
say  we  have  bobc,"  said  the  minister.  "  I  do  what  I  can 
to  remedy  this  misfortuue  by  public  catechising ;  but  hav- 
ing two  or  three  churches  to  serve,  I  can  not  give  so  much 
tiuie  as  I  wish  to  private  instruction  ;  and  having  a  large 
family  of  my  own,  and  no  assistance  from  others,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  establish  a  school." 

"  There  is  an  excellent  institution  in  London,"  said  Mr. 
Johnson,  "called  the  Sunday  School  Society,  which  kindly 
gives  books  and  other  helps,  on  the  application  of  such  pious 
clergymen  as  stand  in  need  of  their  aid,  and  which  I  act 
sure  would  have  assisted  you,  but  I  think  we  shall  be  able 
to  do  something  ourselves.     Shepherd,"  continued  he,  "if  I 

re  a  king,  and  had  it  in  my  power  to  make  you  a  rich 
and  a  great  man,  with  a  word  sp  I  would  not  do  it. 

Those  who  are  raised  by  some  sudden  stroke,  much  above 
the  station  in  which  divine  Providence  had  placed  them, 
seldom  turn  out  very  good,  or  very  happy.  I  b 
had  any  great  things  in  my  power,  but  as  far  as  I  have  been 
able,  1  have  been  always  glad  to  assist  the  worthy.  I  have 
however,  never  attempted  or  desired  to  set  any  poor  man 
much  above  his  natural  condition,  but  it,  is  a  pleasure  to 
me  to  lend  him  such  assistance  as  may  make  that  condition 
more  easy  to  himself,  and  put  him  in  a  way  which  shall  call 
him  to  the  pert'.. nuance  of  more  duties  than  perhaps  ho 
could  have  performed  without  my  help,  and  d*  performing 


38  THE     SHEPHERD 

them  in  a  better  manner  to  others,  and  with  more  comfort 
to  himself.     What  rent  do  you  pay  for  this  cottage  ?" 
"  Fifty  shillings  a  year,  sir." 

"  It  is  in  a  sad  tattered  condition ;  is  there  not  a  better 
to  be  had  in  the  village  ?" 

"  That  in  which  the  poor  clerk  lived,"  said  the  clergyman, 
"is  not  only  more  tight  and  whole,  but  has  two  decent 
chambers,  and  a  very  large  light  kitchen."  "  That  will  be 
very  convenient,"  replied  Mr.  Johnson  ;  "  pray  what  is  the 
rent  ?"  "  I  think,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  poor  neighbor  Wil- 
son gave  somewhat  about  four  pounds  a  year,  or  it  might 
be  guineas."  "  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  and  what 
will  the  clerk's  place  be  worth,  think  you  ?"  "  About  three 
pounds,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mr.  Johnson,  "  my  plan  is,  that  the 
shepherd  should  take  that  house  immediately ;  for  as  the 
poor  man  is  dead,  there  will  be  no  need  of  waiting  till  quar- 
ter-day, if  I  make  up  the  difference."     "  True,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Jenkins,  "  and  I  am  sure  my  wife's  father,  whom  I  expect 
to-morrow,  will  willingly  assist  a  little  toward  buying  some 
of  the  clerk's  old  goods.     And  the  sooner  they  remove  the 
better,  for  poor  Mary  caught  that  bad  rheumatism  by  sleep- 
ing under  a  leaky  thatch."     The  shepherd*  was  too  much 
moved  to  speak,  and  Mary  could  hardly  sob  out,  "  Oh,  sir ! 
you  are  too  good ;  indeed  this  house  will  do  very  well." 
"  It  may  do  very  well  for  you  and  your  children,  Mary," 
said  Mr.  Johnson,  gravely,  "  but  it  will  not  do  for  a  school ; 
the  kitchen  is  neither  large  nor  light  enough.     Shepherd," 
continued  he,  "  with  your  good  minister's  leave,  and  kind 
assistance,  I  propose  to  set  up  in  this  parish  a  Sunday  School, 
and  to  make  you  the  master.     It  will  not  at  all  interfere 
wiih  your  weekly  calling,  and  it  is  the  only  lawful  way  in 
which  you  could  turn  the  Sabbath  into  a  day  of  some  little 
profit  to  your  family,  by  doing,  as  I  hope,  a  great  deal  of 


OF     SALISBURY     PLAIN.  39 

good  to  the  souls  of  others.  The  rest  of  the  week  you  will 
work  as  usual. '  The  difference  of  rent  between  this  house 
and  the  clerk's  I  shall  pay  myself,  for  to  put  you  in  a  better 
house  at  your  own  expense  would  be  no  great  act  of  kindness. 
As  for  honest  Mary,  who  is  not  fit  for  hard  labor,  or  any 
other  out-of-door  work,  I  propose  to  endow  a  small  weekly 
school,  of  which  she  shall  be  the  mistress,  and  employ  her 
notable  turn  to  good  account,  by  teaching  ten  or  a  dozen 
girls  to  knit,  sew,  spin,  card,  or  any  other  useful  way  of 
getting  their  bread ;  for  all  this  I  shall  only  pay  her  the 
usual  price,  for  I  am  not  going  to  make  you  rich,  but  use- 
ful." 

"Not  rich,  sir?"  cried  the  shepherd;  "IIow  can  I  ever 
be  thankful  enough  for  such  blessings  ?  And  will  my  poor 
Mary  have  a  dry  thatch  over  her  head  ?  and  shall  I  be  able 
to  send  for  the  doctor  when  I  am  like  to  lose  her  ?  Indeed 
my  cup  runs  over  with  blessings ;  I  hope  God  will  give  me 
humility."  Here  he  and  Mary  looked  at  each  other  and 
burst  into  tears.  The  gentlemen  saw  their  distress,  and 
kindly  walked  out  upon  the  little  green  before  the  .door, 
that  these  honest  people  might  give  vent  to  their  feelings. 
As  soon  as  they  were  alone  they  crept  into  one  corner  of 
the  room,  where  they  thought  they  could  not  be  seen, 
fell  on  their  knees,  devoutly  blessing  and  praising  God  for 
his  mercies.  Never  were  more  hearty  prayers  presented, 
than  t:  .  I  couple  offered  up  for  their  benefactors, 

warmth  of  their  gratitude  could  only  be  equaled  by 
the  ear  ss  with  which  they  besought  the  blessing  of 

God  on  the  work  in  which  they  were  going  to  engage. 

The    two   gentlemen   now  left   this   happy  family,  and 
walked  to  the'  parsonage,  where  the  evening  \\;t^  spenl  i 
manner  very  edifying  to  Mr.  Johnson,  who  the   : 
took  all  proper  measures  fur  putting  the  shepherd  in  imme- 
diate possession  of  his  now  comfortable   habitation.     Mr. 


40      THE     SHEPHERD    OF    SALISBURY    PLAIN. 

Jenkins's  father-in-law,  the  worthy  gentleman  who  gave  the 
shepherd's  wife  the  blankets,  in  the  first  part  of  this  history, 
arrived  at  the  parsonage  before  Mr.  Johnson  left  it,  and  as- 
sisted in  fitting  up  the  clerk's  cottage. 

Mr.  Johnson  took  his  leave,  promising  to  call  on  the 
worthy  minister  and  his  new  clerk  once  a  year,  in  his  sum- 
mer's journey  over  the  plain,  as  long  as  it  should  please 
God  to  spare  his  life.  He  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied 
with  the  objects  of  his  bounty.  The  shepherd's  zeal  and 
piety  made  him  a  blessing  to  the  rising  generation.  The 
old  resorted  to  his  school  for  the  benefit  of  hearing  the  young 
instructed  ;  and  the  clergyman  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
that  he  was  rewarded  for  the  protection  he  gave  the  school 
by  the  great  increase  in  his  congregation.  The  shepherd 
not  only  exhorted  both  parents  and  children  to  the  indispen- 
sable duty  of  a  regular  attendance  at  church,  but  by  bis 
pious  counsels  he  drew  them  thither,  and  by  his  plain  and 
prudent  instructions  enabled  them  to  understand,  and  of 
course  to  delight  in  the  public  worship  of  God. 


THE    TWO    SHOEMAKERS 


Jack  Brown  and  James  Stock,  were  two  lads  apprenticed 
at  nearly  the  same  time,  to  Mr.  Williams,  a  shoemaker,  in  a 
small  town  in  Oxfordshire  :  they  were  pretty  near  the  same 
age,  but  of  very  different  characters  and  dispositions. 

Brown  was  eldest  son  to  a  farmer  in  good  circumstances, 
who  gave  the  usual  apprentice  fee  with  him.  Being  a  wild, 
giddy  boy,  whom  his  father  could  not  well  manage  or  in- 
struct in  farming,  he  thought  it  better  to  send  him  out  to 
learn  a  trade  at  a  distance,  than  to  let  him  idle  about  at 
home;  for  Jack  always  preferred  bird's-nesting  and  marbles 
to  any  other  employment;  he  would  trifle  away  the  day, 
when  his  father  thought  he  was  at  school,  with  any  boys  he 
could  meet  with,  who  were  as  idle  as  himself;  and  he  could 
never  be  prevaile  1  upon  to  do,  or  to  learn  any  thing,  while 
a  game  at  taw  could  be  had  for  love  or  money.  All  this 
time  his  little  brothers,  much  younger  than  himself,  were 
beginning  to  follow  the  plow,  or  to  carry  the  corn  to  the 
mill  as  soon  as  they  were  able  to  mount  a  cart-horse. 

Jack,  however,  who  was  a  lively  boy,  and  did  not  natu- 
rally want  either  sense  or  goo  l-nature,  might  have  turt 
out  well  enough,  if  1  e  had  not  had  the  misfortune  to  be  his 
mother's  favorite.  She  concealed  an  1  forgave  all  hisfaults. 
To  be  sure  he  was  a  little  wild,  she  would  say,  but  he  would 
not  make  the  worse  man  for  that,  for  .lack  had  a  good 
spirit  of  his  own,  and  she  would  not  have  it  broke,  and  so 
make  a  mope  of  the  boy.     The  farmer,  for  a  quiet  life,  as 


42  THE     TWO     SnOEMAKERS. 

it  is  called,  gave  up  all  these  points  to  his  wife,  and,  with 
them,  gave  tip  the  future  virtue  and  happiness  of  his  child. 
He  was  a  laborious  and  industrious  man,  but  had  no  relig- 
ion ;  he  thought  only  of  the  gains  and  advantages  of  tbe 
present  day,  and  never  took  the  future  into  the  account. 
His  wife  managed  him  entirely,  and  as  she  was  really  no- 
table, he  did  not  trouble  his  head  about  any  thing  further. 
If  she  had  been  careless  in  ber  dairy,  he  would  have  storm- 
ed and  sworn ;  but  as  she  only  ruined  one  child  by  indulg- 
ence, and  almost  broke  the  heart  of  the  rest  by  unkinduess, 
he  gave  himself  little  concern  about  the  matter.  The 
cheese,  certainly  was  good,  and  that  indeed  is  a  great  point ; 
but  she  was  neglectful  of  her  children,  and  a  tyrant  to  her 
servants.  Her  husband's  substance,  indeed,  was  not  wasted, 
but  his  happiness  was  not  consulted.  His  house,  it  is  true, 
was  not  dirty,  but  it  was  the  abode  of  fury,  ill-temper,  and 
covetousness.  And  the  farmer,  though  he  did  not  care  for 
licmor,  was  too  often  driven  to  the  public-house  in  the  even- 
ing, because  his  own  was  neither  quiet  nor  comfortable. 
The  mother  was  always  scolding,  and  the  children  were  al- 
ways crying. 

Jack,  however,  notwithstanding  his  idleness,  picked  up  a 
little  reading  and  writing,  but  never  would  learn  to  cast  an 
account :  that  was  too  much  labor.  His  mother  was  desir- 
ous he  should  continue  at  school,  not  so  much  for  the  sake 
of  his  learning,  which  she  had  not  sense  enough  to  value, 
but  to  save  her  darling  from  the  fatigue  of  labor:  for  if  he 
had  not  gone  to  school,  she  knew  he  must  have  gone  to 
work,  and  she  thought  the  former  was  the  least  tiresome  of 
the  two.  Indeed,  this  foolish  woman  had  such  an  opinion 
of  his  genius,  that  she  used,  from  a  child,  to  think  he  was 
too  wise  for  any  thing  but  a  parson,  and  hoped  she  would 
live  to  see  him  one.  She  did  not  wish  to  see  her  son  a 
minister  because  she  loved  either  learning  or  piety,  but  be- 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  43 

cause  she  thought  it  would  make  Jack  a  gentleman,  and  set 
him  above  his  brothers. 

Farmer  Brown  still  hoped  that  though  Jack  was  likely 
to  make  but  an  idle  and  ignorant  fanner,  yet  he  might 
make  no  bad  tradesman,  when  he  should  be  removed  from 
the  indulgences  of  a  father's  house,  and  from  a  silly  mother, 
whose  fondness  kept  him  back  in  every  thing.  This  wo- 
man was  enraged  when  she  found  that  so  fine  a  scholar,  as 
she  took  Jack  to  be,  was  to  be  put  apprentice  to  a  shoe- 
maker. The  farmer,  however,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
would  have  his  own  way,  and  too  apt  to  mind  only  what  is 
falsely  called  the  main  chance,  instead  of  being  careful  to 
look  out  for  a  sober,  prudent,  and  religious  master  for  his 
son,  he  left  all  that  to  accident,  as  if  it  had  been  a  thing  of 
little  or  no  consequence.  This  is  a  very  common  fault ;  and 
fathers  who  are  guilty  of  it,  are  in  a  great  measure  answer- 
able for  the  future  sins  and  errors  of  their  children,  when 
they  come  out  into  the  world,  and  set  up  for  themselves. 
If  a  man  gives  his  son  a  good  education,  a  good  example, 
and  a  good  master,  it  is  indeed  possible  that  the  son  may 
not  turn  out  well,  but  it  does  not  often  happen  ;  and  when 
it  does,  the  father  has  no  blame  resting  on  him,  and  it  is  a 
great  point  toward  a  man's  comfort  to  have  his  conscience 
quiet  in  that  respect,  however  God  may  think  fit  to  over- 
rule events. 

The  farmer,  however,  took  care  to  desire  his  friends  to 
inquire  for  a  shoemaker  who  had  o-ood  business,  and  was  a 
good  workman ;  and  the  mother  did  not  forget  to  put  in 
li  r  word,  an  1  desired  that  it  might  be  one  who  was  not  too 
strict,  for  Jack  had  been  brought  up  tenderly,  was  a  meek 
boy,  and  could  not  bear  to  bo  contradicted  in  anything. 
And  this  is  the  common  notion  of  meekness  ami 
pie  who  do  not  take  up  their  notions  on  rational  and  Chris- 
tian grounds. 


44  THE     TWO    SHOEMAKERS. 

Mr.  Williams  was  recommended  to  the  farmer  as  being 
the  best  shoemaker  in  the  town  in  which  he  lived,  and  far 
from  a  strict  master,  and,  without  further  inquiries,  to  Mr. 
Williams  he  went. 

James  Stock,  who  was  the  son  of  an  honest  laborer  in 
the  next  village,  was  bound  out  by  the  parish  in  considera- 
tion of  his  father  having  so  numerous  a  family,  that  he  was 
not  able  to  put  him  out  himself.  James  was  in  every  thing 
the  very  reverse  of  his  new  companion.  He  was  a  modest, 
industrious,  pious  youth,  and  though  so  poor,  and  the  child 
of  a  laborer,  was  a  much  better  scholar  than  Jack,  who  was 
a  wealthy  farmer's  son.  His  father  had,  it  is  true,  been  able 
to  give  him  but  very  little  schooling,  for  he  was  obliged  to 
be  put  to  work  when  quite  a  child.  When  very  young,  he 
used  to  run  of  errands  for  Mr.  Thomas,  the  curate  of  the 
parish ;  a  very  kind-hearted  young  gentleman,  who  boarded 
next  door  to  bis  father's  cottage.  He  used  also  to  rub  down 
and  saddle  his  horse,  and  do  any  other  little  job  for  him,  in 
the  most  civil,  obliging  manner.  All  this  so  recommended 
him  to  the  clergyman,  that  he  would  often  send  for  him  of 
an  evening,  after  he  had  done  his  day's  work  in  the  field, 
and  condescend  to  teach  him  himself  to  write  and  cast  ac- 
counts, as  well  as  to  instruct  him  in  the  principles  of  his 
religion.  It  was  not  merely  out  of  kindness  for  the  little 
o-ood-natured  services  James  did  him,  that  he  showed  him 
this  favor,  but  also  for  his  readiness  in  the  cathecism,  and 
his  devout  behavior  at  church. 

The  first  thing  that  drew  the  minister's  attention  to  this 
b«.y,  was  the  following  :  he  had  frequently  given  him  half- 
pence and  pence  for  holding  his  horse  and  carrying  him  to  wa- 
ter before  ho  was  big  enough  to  be  further  useful  to  him.  On 
Christmas  day  ho  was  surprised  to  see  James  at  church,  read- 
ing out  of  a  handsome  new  prayer-book  ;  he  wondered  how 
he  came  by  it,  for  he  knew  there  was  nobody  in  the  parish 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  45 

likely  to  have  given  it  to  him,  for  at  that  time  there  were 
no  Sunday  Schools;  and  the  father  could  not  afford  it,  he 
was  sure. 

"  Well,  James,"  said  he,  as  he  saw  him  when  they  came 
out,  "  you  made  a  good  figure  at  church  to-day  :  it  made 
you  look  like  a  man  and  a  Christian,  not  only  to  have  so 
handsome  a  book,  but  to  be  so  ready  in  all  parts  of  the  serv- 
ice. How  can  you  buy  that  book  ?"  James  owned  mod- 
estly that  he  had  been  a  whole  year  saving  up  the  money 
by  single  half-pence,  all  of  which  had  been  of  the  minis- 
ter's own  giving,  and  that  in  all  that  time  he  had  not  spent 
a  single  farthing  on  his  own  diversions.  "  My  dear  boy," 
said  the  good  Mr.  Thomas,  "  I  am  much  mistaken  if  thou 
dost  not  turn  out  well  in  the  world,  for  two  reasons  : — first, 
from  thy  saving  turn  and  self-denying  temper ;  and  next, 
because  thou  didst  devote  the  first  eighteen-pence  thou  wast 
ever  worth  in  the  world  to  so  good  a  purpose." 

James  bowed  and  blushed,  and  from  that  time  Mr.  Thom- 
as besran  to  take  more  notice  of  him,  and  to  instruct  him 
as  I  said  above.  As  James  soon  grew  able  to  do  him  more 
considerable  service,  he  would  now  and  then  give  him  a  six- 
pence. This  he  constantly  saved  till  it  became  a  little  sum, 
with  which  he  bought  shoes  and  stockings;  well  knowing 
that  his  poor  father,  with  a  large  family  and  low  wages, 
could  not  buy  them  for  him.  As  to  what  little  money  he 
earned  himself  by  his  daily  labor  in  the  field,  ho  constantly 
carried  it  to  his  mother  every  Saturday  night,  to  buy  bread 
for  the  family,  which  was  a  pretty  help  to  them. 

As  James  was  not  overstout  in  his  make,  his  father  thank- 
fully accepted  tli«'  offer  of  the  parish  officers  to  hind  out 
bis  son  to  a  trade  This  good  man,  however,  had  not,  like 
farmer  Drown,  the  liberty  of  choosing  a  master  for  his  son; 
or  he  would  carefully  have  inquired  if  he  was  a  proper  man 
to  have  the  care  of  youth;  but  Williams  the  shoemaker 


46  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

was  already  fixed  on,  by  those  who  were  to  put  the  boy 
out,  who  told  him  if  he  wanted  a  master  it  must  be  him  or 
none;  for  the  overseers  had  a  better  opinion  of  Williams 
than  he  deserved,  and  thought  it  would  be  the  making  of 
the  boy  to  go  to  him.  The  father  knew  that  beggars  must 
not  be  choosers,  so  he  fitted  out  James  for  his  new  place, 
having  indeed  little  to  give  him  besides  his  blessing. 

The  worthy  Mr.  Thomas,  however,  kindly  gave  him  an 
old  coat  and  waistcoat,  which  his  mother,  who  was  a  neat 
and  notable  woman,  contrived  to  make  up  for  him  herself 
without  a  farthing  expense,  and  when  it  was  turned  and 
made  fit  for  his  size,  it  made  a  very  handsome  suit  for  Sun- 
days, and  lasted  him  a  couple  of  years. 

And  here  let  me  stop  to  remark  what  a  pity  it  is,  that 
poor  women  so  seldom  are  able  or  willing  to  do  these  sort 
of  little  handy  jobs  themselves;  and  that  tliey  do  not 
oftener  bring  up  their  daughters  to  be  more  useful  in  family 
work.  They  are  great  losers  by  it  every  way,  not  only  as 
they  are  disqualifying  their  girls  from  making  good  wives 
hereafter  but  they  are  losers  in  point  of  present  advantage  ; 
for  gentry  could  much  oftener  afford  to  give  a  poor  boy  a 
jacket  or  a  waistcoat,  if  it  was  not  for  the  expense  of  mak- 
ing it,  which  adds  very  much  to  the  cost.  To  my  certain 
knowledge,  many  poor  women  would  often  get  an  old  coat, 
or  a  bit  of  coarse  new  cloth  given  to  them  to  fit  out  a  boy, 
if  the  mother  or  sisters  were  known  to  be  able  to  cut  out 
to  advantage,  and  to  make  it  up  decently  themselves.  But 
half  a  crown  for  the  making  a  bit  of  kersey,  which  costs 
but  a  few  shillings,  is  more  than  many  very  charitable  gen- 
tly can  a  I  lord  to  give — so  they  often  give  nothing  at  all, 
when  they  see  the  mothers  so  little  able  to  turn  it,  to  advan- 
tage. It  is  hoped  they  will  take  this  hint  kindly,  as  it  is 
meant  for  their  good. 

But  to  return  to  our  two  young  shoemakers.      They  were 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  47 

both  now  settled,  at  Mr.  Williams's  who,  as  he  was  known 
to  be  a  good  workman  had  plenty  of  business — he  had 
sometimes  two  or  three  journeymen,  but  no  apprentices 
but  Jack  and  James. 

Jack,  who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  a  keen,  smart  boy,  took 
to  learn  the  trade  quick  enough,  but  the  difficulty  was  to 
make  him  stick  two  hours  together  to  his  work.  At  every 
noise  he  heard  in  the  street  down  went  the  work — the  last 
one  way,  the  upper  leather  another ;  the  sole  dropped  on 
the  ground,  and  the  thread  dragged  after  him,  all  the  way 
up  the  street.  If  a  blind  fiddler,  a  ballad  singer,  a  mounte- 
bank, a  dancing  bear,  or  a  drum  were  heard  at  a  distance 
out  ran  Jack,  nothing  could  stop  him,  and  not  a  stich  more 
could  he  be  prevailed  on  to  do  that  day.  Every  duty, 
every  promise  was  forgotten  for  the  present  pleasure — he 
could  not  resist  the  smallest  temptation — he  never  stop- 
ped for  a  moment  to  consider  whether  a  thing  was  light 
or  wrong,  but  Avhether  he  liked  or  disliked  it.  And  as  his 
ill-judging  mother  took  care  to  send  him  privately  a  good 
supply  of  pocket-money,  that  deadly  bane  to  all  youth- 
ful virtue,  he  had  generally  a  few  pence  ready  to  spend,  and 
to  indulge  in  the  present  diversion,  whatever  i!  was.  And 
what  was  still  worse  even  than  spending  his  money,  he  spent 
his  time  too,  or  rather  his  master's  time.  Of  ihis  be  was 
continually  reminded  by  James,  to  whom  he  always  an- 
swered, "What  have  you  to  complain  about?  It  is  nothi 
to  you  or  any  one  else;  I  spend  nobody's  money  but  my 
own."  "That  may  by'  replied  the  other,  "hut  you  can  qoI 
say  it  is  your  own  lime  thai,  you  spend."  He  insisted  upon 
it,  that  it  was;  bul  James  fetched  down  their  indent 
and  there  showed  him  that  he  had  solemnly  bound  himself  by 
that  instrument,  not  to  Wi  r's  property.  "Now," 

quoth  James,  "thy  own  time  is  a  very  valuable  part  of  thy 
master's  property."     To  this  he  replied,  "every  one's  time 


48  T  II  E     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

was  his  own,  and  lie  should  not  sit  inoping  all  day  over  bis 
last — for  his  part,  he  thanked  God  he  was  no  parish  'prentice." 

James  did  not  resent  this  piece  of  foolish  impertinence, 
as  some  silly  lads  would  have  done ;  nor  fly  out  into  a 
violent  passion  :  for  even  at  this  early  age  he  had  begun  to 
learn  of  Ilim  who  was  meek  and  lowly  of  heart ;  and 
therefore  when  he  tuas  reviled,  he  reviled  not  again.  On 
the  contrary  he  was  so  very  kind  and  gentle,  that  even  Jack, 
vain  and  idle  as  he  was,  could  not  help  loving  him,  though 
he  took  care  never  to  follow  his  advice. 

Jack's  fondness  for  his  boyish  and  silly  diversions  in  the 
street,  soon  produced  the  effects  which  might  naturally  be 
expected ;  and  the  same  idleness  which  led  him  to  fly  out 
into  the  town  at  the  sound  of  a  fiddle  or  the  sight  of  a  pup- 
pet-show soon  led  him  to  those  places  to  which  all  these 
fiddles  and  shows  naturally  led  ;  I  mean  the  ale-house.  The 
acquaintance  picked  up  in  the  street  was  carried  on  at  the 
Grayhound ;  and  the  idle  pastimes  of  the  boy  soon  led  to 
the  destructive  vices  of  the  man. 

As  he  was  not  an  ill-tempered  youth,  nor  naturally  much 
given  to  drink,  a  sober  and  prudent  master,  who  had  been 
steady  in  his  management  and  regular  in  his  own  conduct, 
who  would  have  recommended  good  advice  by  a  good  ex- 
ample, might  have  made  something  of  Jack.  But  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  that  Mr.  Williams,  though  a  good  workman, 
and  not  a  very  hard  or  severe  master,  was  neither  a  sober 
nor  a  steady  man — so  far  from  it  that  he  spent  much  more 
time  at  the  Grayhound  than  at  home.  There  was  no  order 
cither  in  his  shop  or  family.  He  left  the  chief  care  of  his 
business  to  his  two  young  apprentices ;  and  being  but  a 
worldly  man,  he  was  at  first  disposed  to  show  favor  to  Jack, 
much  more  than  to  James,  because  ho  had  more  money, 
and  his  father  was  better  in  the  world  than  the  father  of 
poor  James. 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  49 

At  first,  therefore,  lie  was  disposed  to  consider  James  as  a 
sort  of  drudge ;  who  was  to  do  all  the  menial  work  of  the 
family,  and  he  did  not  care  how  little  he  taught  him  of  his 
trade.  With  Mrs.  Williams  the  matter  was  still  worse  ;  she 
constantly  called  him  away  from  the  business  of  his  trade  to 
wash  the  house,  nurse  the  child,  turn  the  spit,  or  run  of  er- 
rands. And  here  I  must  remark,  that  though  parish  appren- 
tices are  bound  in  duty  to  be  submissive  to  both  master  and 
mistress,  and  always  to  make  themselves  as  useful  as  they 
can  in  the  family,  and  to  be  civil  and  humble  ;  yet  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  the  duty  of  masters  always  to  remember, 
that  if  they  are  paid  for  instructing  them  in  their  trade, 
l! iey  ought  conscientiously  to  instruct  them  in  it,  and  not 
to  employ  them  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in  such 
household  or  other  drudgery,  as  to  deprive  them  of  the  op- 
portunity of  acquiring  their  trade.  This  practice  is  not  the 
less  unjust  because  it  is  common. 

Mr.  Williams  soon  found  out  that  his  favorite  Jack  would 
be  of  little  use  to  him  in  the  shop  ;  fur  though  he  worked 
well  enough,  he  did  not  care  how  little  he  did.  Nor  could 
he  be  of  the  least  use  lo  his  master  in  keeping  an  account, 
or  writing  out  a  bill  upon  occasion,  for,  as  Ik;  never  could 
be  made  to  learn  to  cipher,  lie  did  not  know  addition  from 
multiplication. 

One  day  one  of  the  customers  called  at  the  shop  in  a 
great  hurry,  and  desired  liis  Mil  might  be  made  out  that 
minute.  Mr.  Williams,  having  taken  a  cup  too  much,  made 
several  attempts  to  pul  down  a.  clear  account,  but  the  more 
he  tried,  the  less  he  found  himself  able  to  do  it.  James,  who 
was  sitting  at  his  last,  rose  up,  and  with  great  mod 
asked  his  master  if  he  would  please  give  him  leave  to  make 
out  the  bill,  saying,  thai  though  but  a  poorscholar,  he  would 
do  his  best,  rather  than  keep  the  gentleman  waiting.  Wil- 
liams gladly  accepted  his   offer,  and   confused   as   bis   head 

3 


50  THE    TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

was  with  liquor,  lie  yet  was  able  to  observe  with  what  neat- 
ness, dispatch,  and  exactness,  the  account  was  drawn  out. 
From  that  time  he  no  longer  considered  James  as  a  drudge, 
but  as  one  fitted  for  the  high  departments  of  the  trade,  and 
lie  was  now  regularly  employed  to  manage  the  accounts, 
with  which  all  the  customers  were  so  well  pleased,  that  it 
contributed  greatly  to  raise  him  in  his  master's  esteem  ;  for 
there  were  now  never  any  of  those  blunders  of  false  charges 
for  which  the  shop  had  before  been  so  famous. 

James  went  on  in  a  regular  course  of  industry,  and  soon 
became  the  best  workman  Mr.  Williams  had ;  but  there 
were  many  things  in  the  family  which  he  greatly  disap- 
proved. Some  of  the  journeymen  used  to  swear,  drink,  and 
sing  very  licentious  songs.  All  these  things  were  a  great 
grief  to  his  sober  mind ;  he  complained  to  his  master,  who 
ouly  laughed  at  him  ;  and,  indeed,  as  Williams  did  the  same 
himself,  he  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  correct  his  servants, 
if  he  had  been  so  disposed.  James,  however,  used  always 
to  reprove  them,  with  great  mildness  indeed,  but  with  great 
seriousness  also.  This,  but  still  more  his  own  excellent  ex- 
ample, produced  at  length  very  good  effects  on  such  of  the 
men  as  were  not  quite  hardened  in  sin. 

What  grieved  him  most,  wras  the  manner  in  which  the 
Sunday  was  spent.  The  master  lay  in  bed  all  the  morning; 
nor  did  the  mother  or  her  children  ever  go  to  church,  ex- 
cept then:  was  some  now  finery  to  be  shown,  or  a  christen- 
ing to  be  attended.  The  town's-people  were  coming  to  the 
shop  all  the  morning,  for  work  which  should  have  been 
seut  home  the  night  before,  had  not  the  master  been  at  the 
ale-house.  And  what  wounded  James  to  \}\>;  very  soul  was, 
that  th  the  two  apprentices  to  carry  home 

shoes  to  tin-  <-ii  the  Sunday  morning ; 

which  he  wickedly  thought,  was  a  saving  of  time,  as  it  pre- 
vented their  hiudering  their  work  on  the  Saturday.     These 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  <Yj 

shameful  practices  greatly  afflicted  poor  James  ;  he  begged 
his  master  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  excuse  him,  but  he  only 
laughed  at  his  squeamish  conscience,  as  he  called  it. 

Jack  did  not  dislike  this  part  of  the  business,  and  gene- 
rally after  he  had  delivered  his  parcel,  wasted  good  part  of 
the  day  in  nutting,  playing  at  fives,  or  dropping  in  at 
the  public  house  :  any  thing  was  better  to  Jack  than  going 
to  church. 

James,  on  the  other  hand,  when  he  was  compelled,  sorely 
against  his  conscience,  to  carry  home  any  goods  on  a  Sun- 
day morning,  always  got  up  as  soon  as  it  was  light,  knelt 
down  and  prayed  heartily  to  God  to  forgive  him  a  sin  which 
it  was  not  in  his  power  to  avoid  ;  he  took  care  not  to  lose 
a  moment  by  the  way,  but  as  he  was  taking  his  walk  with 
the  utmost  speed,  to  leave  his  shoes  with  the  customers,  he 
spent  his  time  in  endeavoring  to  keep  up  good  thoughts  in 
his  mind,  and  praying  that  the  day  might  come  when  his 
conscience  might  be  delivered  from  this  grievous  burden, 
lie  was  now  particularly  thankful  that  Mr.  Thomas  had 
formerly  taught  him  so  many  psalms  and  chapters,  which 
he  used  to  repeat  in  these  walks  with  great  devotion. 

He  always  got  home  before  the  rest  of  the  family  were 
up,  dressed  himself  yery  clean,  and  went  twice  to  church; 
as  he  greatly  disliked  the  company  and  practices  of  his 
master's  house,  particularly  on  the  Sabbath-day ;  he  preferred 
spending  his  evening  alone,  reading  the  Bible,  which  I  had 
forgot  to  say  the  worthy  clergyman  had  given  him  when 
he  left  his  native  village.  Sunday  evening  which  is  to 
some  people  such  a  burden,  was  to  .lames  the  highest  holi- 
day, lie  had  formerly  learned  a  little  how  to  sing  a  psalm 
of  the  clerk  <>f  hi-  own  parish,  and  this  was  now  become  a 
very  delightful  part  of  his  evening  i  icercise.  And  a-  \\  ill 
Simpson,  one  of  the  journej  men,  by  .lame-'-,  advice  and  es 
ample,  was  now  beginning  to  be  of  a  more  serious  way  of 


52  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

thinking,  he  often  asked  him  to  sit  an  hour  with  him,  when 
they  read  the  Bible,  and  talked  it  over  together  in  a  manner 
very  pleasant  and  improving;  and  as  Will  was  a  famous 
singer,  a  psalm  or  two  sung  together  was  a  very  innocent 
pleasure. 

James's  good  manners  and  civility  to  the  customers  drew 
much  business  to  the  shop ;  and  his  skill  as  a  workman 
was  so  great,  that  every  one  desired  that  his  shoes  might 
be  made  by  James.  Williams  grew  so  very  idle  and  negli- 
gent, that  he  now  totally  neglected  his  affairs,  and  to  hard 
drinking  added  deep  gaming.  All  James's  care,  both  of 
the  shop  and  the  accounts,  could  not  keep  things  in  any 
tolerable  order  :  he  represented  to  his  master  that  they  were 
growing  worse  and  worse,  and  exhorted  him,  if  he  valued 
his  credit  as  a  tradesman,  his  comfort  as  a  husband  and 
father,  his  character  as  a  master,  and  his  soul  as  a  Christian, 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  Williams  swore  a  great  oath,  that 
he  would  not  be  restrained  in  his  pleasures  to  please  a  cant- 
ing parish  'prentice,  nor  to  humor  a  parcel  of  squalling 
brats — that  let  people  say  what  they  would  of  him,  they 
should  never  say  he  was  a  hypocrite,  and  as  long  as-  they 
could  not  call  him  that,  he  did  not  care  what  else  they  called 
him. 

In  a  violent  passion  he  immediately  went  to  the  Gray- 
hound,  where  he  now  spent  not  only  every  evening,  which 
he  had  long  done,  but  good  part  of  the  day  and  night  also. 
Bis  wife  was  very  dressy,  extravagant,  and  fond  of  company, 
and  wasted  at  home  as  fast  as  her  husband  spent  abroad,  so 
that  all  the  neighbors  said,  if  it  had  not  been  for  James,  his 
master  must  have  been  a  bankrupt  long  ago,  but  they  were 
he  could  not  hold  it  much  longer. 

As  Jack  Brown  sung  a  good  song,  and  played  many 
diverting  tricks,  Williams  liked  his  company;  and  often  al- 
lowed him  to  make  one  at  the  Grayhound,  where  he  would 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  53 

laugh  heartily  at  his  stones ;  so  that  every  one  thought 
Jack  was  much  the  greater  favorite — so  he  was  as  a  com- 
panion in  frolic,  and  foolery,  and  pleasure,  as  it  is  called ; 
but  he  would  not  trust  him  with  an  inch  of  leather  or  six- 
pence in  money :  No,  no — when  business  was  to  be  done, 
or  trust  was  to  be  reposed,  James  was  the  man  :  the  idle 
and  the  drunken  never  trust  one  another,  if  they  have  com- 
mon sense.  They  like  to  laugh,  and  sing,  and  riot,  and 
drink  together,  but  when  they  want  a  friend,  a  counselor,  a 
helper  in  business  or  in  trouble,  they  go  further  afield  ;  and 
Williams,  while  he  would  drink  with  Jack,  would  trust 
James  with  untold  gold  ;  and  even  was  foolishly  tempted 
to  neglect  his  business  the  more  from  knowing  that  he  had 
one  at  home  who  was  taking  care  of  it. 

In  spite  of  all  James's  care  and  diligence,  however, 
things  were  growing  worse  and  worse  ;  the  more  James 
saved,  the  more  his  master  and  mistress  spent.  One  morn- 
ing, just  as  the  shop  was  opened,  and  James  had  set  every 
body  to  their  respective  work,  and  he  himself  was  settling 
the  business  for  the  day,  he  found  that  his  master  was  not 
yet  come  from  the  Grayhound.  As  this  was  now  become 
a  common  case,  he  only  grit  wd  but  did  not  wonder  at  it. 
While  he  was  indulging  sad  thoughts  on  what  would  be 
the  end  of  all  this,  in  ran  the  tapster  from  the  Grayhound 
out  of  breath,  and  with  a  look  of  terror  and  dismay,  de- 
sired James  would  st<>j>  over  to  the  public  house  with  him 
that  moment,  for  that  his  master  wanted  him. 

James  went  immediately,  surprised  at  this  unusual  mes- 
sage. When  he  got  into  the  kitchen  of  the  public  house, 
which  he  now  entered  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  though 
it  was  just  opposite  to  the  house  in  which  he  lived,  he  was 
shocked  at  the  beastly  disgusting  appearance  of  every  thing 
he  beheld.  There  was  a  table  covered  with  tankards, 
punch-bowls,  broken  glasses,  pipes,  and  dirty  greasy  packs 


54  TIIE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

of  cards,  and  all  over  wet  with  liquor;  the  floor  was 
strewed  with  broken  earthen  cups,  old  cards,  and  an  EO 
table  which  had  been  shivered  to  pieces  in  a  quarrel ;  be- 
hind the  table  stood  a  crowd  of  dirty  fellows,  with  matted 
locks,  hollow  eyes,  and  faces  smeared  with  tobacco ;  James 
made  his  way  after  the  tapster,  through  this  wretched  look- 
ing crew,  to  a  settle  which  stood  in  the  chironey-corner. 
Not  a  word  was  uttered,  but  the  silent  horror  seemed 
to  denote  something  more  than  a  mere  common  drunken 
bout. 

What  was  the  dismay  of  James,  when  he  saw  his  miser- 
able master  stretched  out  on  the  settle,  in  all  the  agonies 
of  death !  He  had  fallen  into  a  fit ;  after  having  drunk 
hard  best  part  of  the  night,  and  seemed  to  have  but  a  few 
minutes  to  live.  In  his  frightful  countenance,  was  displayed 
the  dreadful  picture  of  sin  and  death,  fur  he  struggled  at 
onee  under  the  guilt  of  intoxication,  and  the  pangs  of  a 
dying  man.  He  recovered  his  senses  for  a  few  moments, 
and  called  out  to  ask  if  his  faithful  servant  was  come. 
James  weni  up  to  him,  took  him  by  his  cold  hand,  but  was 
too  much  i:  »ved  to  speak.  "Oh!  James,  James,"  cried 
he  in  a  broke  i  voice,  "pray  for  me,  comfort  me."  James 
spoke  kindly  t  i  him,  but  was  too  honest  to  give  him  false 
comfort,  as  it  is  "oo  often  done  by  mistaken  friends  in  these 
dreadful  moment  . 

"James,"  said  he,  "I  have  been  a  bad  master  to  you—  • 
you  would  have  sa/ed  me,  soul  and  body,  but  I  would  not 
let  you — I  have  ruined  my  wife,  my  children,  and  my  own 
soul.  Take  warning,  oh,  take  warning  by  my  miserable 
end,"  said  he  to  his  stupefied  companions  :  but  none  were 
able  to  attend  to  him  but  James,  who-  bid  him  lift  up  his 
hearl  to  God,  and  prayed  heartily  for  him  himself.  "Oh  I" 
said  the  dying  man,  "it  is  too  late,  too  late  for  me — but 
you  have  still  time,"  said  he  to  the  half-drunken,  terrified 


THE     TWO     .SHOEMAKERS.  55 

crew  around  him.  "  Where  is  Jack  ?"  Jack  Brown  came 
forward,  but  was  too  much  frightened  to  speak,  "  Oh, 
wretched  boy  !"  said  he,  "  I  fear  I  shall  have  the  ruin  of 
thy  soul,  as  well  as  my  own  to  answer  for.  Stop  short ! 
Take  warning — now  in  the  days  of  thy  youth.  0  James, 
James,  thou  dost  not  pray  for  me.  Death  is  dreadful  to  the 
wicked — Oh,  the  sting-  of  death  to  a  guilty  conscience!" 
Here  he  lifted  up  his  ghastly  eyes  in  speechless  horror, 
grasped  hard  at  the  hand  of  James,  gave  a  deep  hollow 
groan,  and  closed  his  eyes,  never  to  open  them  but  in  an 
awful  eternity. 

This  was  death  in  all  its  horrors  !  The  gay  companions  of 
his  sinful  pleasures  could  not  stand  the  sight ;  all  slunk 
away  like  guilty  thieves  from  their  late  favorite  friend — no 
one  was  left  to  assist  him,  but  his  two  apprentices.  Brown 
was  not  so  hardened  but  that  he  shed  many  tears  for  his 
unhappy  master  ;  and  even  made  some  hasty  resolutions  of 
amendment,  which  were  too  soon  forgotten. 

"While  Brown  stepped  home  to  call  the  workmen  to  come 
and  assist  in  removing  their  poor  master,  James  staid  alone 
with  the  corpse,  and  employed  these  awful  moments  in  in- 
dulging the  most  serious  thoughts,  and  praying  heartily  to 
God,  that  so  terrible  a  lesson  might  not  be  thrown  away 
upon  him ;  but  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  live  in  a  con- 
stant state  of  preparation  for  death.  The  resolutions  he 
made  at  this  moment,  a-  they  were  not  made  in  his  own 
strength,  but  in  an  humble  reliance  ou  Godis  gracious  help, 
were  of  use  to  him  as  lung  as  he  lived  ;  and  if  ever  he 
for  a  moment  tempted  to  say,  or  do  a  wrong  thing, 
the  remembr  ' 

and  i!  li'ul  words  he  uttered,  always  operated  as  an 

instant  check  upon  him. 

When  Williams  was  buried,  and  his  affairs  came  to  ho 
inquired  into,  they  were  found   to   be    in    a    sad    condition. 


50  T  H  E      1  WO      SHOEMAKERS. 

His  wife,  indeed,  was  the  less  to  be  pitied,  as  she  had  con- 
tributed her  full  share  to  the  common  ruin.  James,  how- 
ever, did  pity  her,  and  by  his  skill  in  accounts,  his  known 
honesty,  and  the  trust  the  creditors  put  in  his  word, 
things  came  to  be  settled  rather  better  than  Mrs.  Williams 
had  expected. 

Both  Brown  and  James  were  now  within  a  month  or  two 
of  being  out  of  their  time.  The  creditors,  as  we  said  be- 
fore, employed  James  to  settle  his  late  master's  accounts, 
which  he  did  in  a  manner  so  creditable  to  his  abilities,  and. 
his  honesty,  that  they  proposed  to  him  to  take  the  shop 
himself.  He  assured  them  it  was  utterly  out  of  his  power 
for  want  of  money.  As  the  creditors  had  not  the  least  fear 
of  being  repaid,  if  it  should  please  God  to  spare  his  life, 
they  generously  agreed  among  themselves  to  advance  him 
a  small  sum  of  money  without  any  security  but  his  bond  ; 
for  this  he  was  to  pay  a  very  reasonable  interest,  and  to  re- 
turn the  whole  in  a  given  number  of  years.  James  shed 
tears  of  gratitude  at  this  testimony  to  his  character,  and 
could  hardly  be  prevailed  on  to  accept  their  kindness,  so 
great  was  his  dread  of  being  in  debt. 

He  took  the  remainder  of  the  lease  from  his  mistress  ; 
and  in  settling  ail'airs  with  her,  took  care  to  make  every 
thing  as  advantageous  to  her  as  possible.  He  never  once 
allowed  himself  to  thiidc  how  unkind  she  had  been  to  him; 
he  only  saw  in  her  the  needy  widow  of  his  deceased  master, 
and  the  distressed  mother  of  an  infant  family;  and  was 
heartily  sorry  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  contribute  to  their 
support ;  it  was  not  only  Jahies's  duty,  but  his  delight,  to 
return  good  for  evil — for  he  was  a  Christian. 

James  Stock  was  now,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  on  his 
own  earnest  endeavors,  master  of  a  considerable  shop,  and 
was  respected  by  the  whole  town  for  his  prudence,  honesty, 
and  piety.     How  he  behaved  in  his  new  station,  and  also 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  57 

what  befell  bis  comrade  Brown,  must  be  the  subject  of  an- 
other booh  ;  and  I  hope  my  readers  will  look  forward  with 
some  impatience  for  some  further  account  of  tbis  worthy- 
young  man.  In  the  mean  time,  other  apprentices  will  do 
well  to  follow  so  praiseworthy  an  example,  and  to  remember 
that  the  respectable  master  of  a  large  shop,  and  of  a  profit- 
able business,  was  raised  to  that  creditable  situation,  with- 
out money,  friends,  or  connections,  from  the  low  beginning 
of  a  parish  apprentice,  by  sobriety,  industry,  the  fear  of 
God,  and  an  obedience  to  the  divine  principles  of  the 
Christian  religion. 


PART    II. 

THE    APPRENTICE    TURNED    MASTER. 

The  first  part  of  tins  history  left  off  with  the  dreadful 
sudden  death  of  Williams,  tlio  idle  shoemaker,  who  died  in 
a  drunken  fit  at  the  (Jrayhound.  It  also  showed  how  James 
Stock,  bis  faithful  apprentice,  by  bis  honest  and  upright  be- 
havior, so  gained  the  love  and  respect  of  his  late  master's 
creditors,  that  they  set  him  up  in  business,  though  he  was 
not  worth  a  shilling  of  his  own — such  is  the  power  of  a 
good  character!  And  when  we  last  parted  from  hira  be  bad 
just  got  possession  of  his  master's  shop. 

This  sudden  prosperity  was  a  time  of  trial  for  Janus, 
who,  as  he  was  now  become  a  ere  litable  tradesman,  I  shall 
hereafter  think  proper  to  call  Mr.  James  Stock.  I  say,  this 
sudden  rise  in  life  was  a  time  of  trial  ;  for  we  hardly  know 
what  we  are  ourselves  till  we  become  our  own  masters. 
There  is  indeed  always  a   reasonable  hope  that  a  good 

3* 


58  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

servant  will  not  make  a  bad  master,  and  that  a  faithful  ap- 
prentice will  prove  an  honest  tradesman.  But  the  heart  of 
man  is  deceitful,  and  some  folks  who  seem  to  behave  very 
well  while  they  are  under  subjection,  no  sooner  get  a  little 
power  than  their  heads  are  turned,  aud  they  grow  prouder 
than  those  who  are  gentlemen  born.  They  forget  at  once 
that  they  were  lately  poor  and  dependent  themselves,  so 
that  one  would  think  that  with  their  poverty  they  had  lost 
their  memory  too.  I  have  known  some  who  had  suffered 
most  hardships  in  their  early  clays,  become  the  most  hard 
and  oppressive  in  their  turn :  so  that  they  seem  to  forget 
that  fine  considerate  reason,  which  God  gives  to  the 
children  of  Israel  why  they  should  be  merciful  to  their 
servants,  renumbering,  said  he,  that  thou  thyself  toast  a 
bond-man. 

Young  Mr.  Stock  did  not  so  forget  himself.  He  had  in- 
deed the  only  sure  guard  from  falling  into  this  error.  It 
was  not  from  any  easiness  in  his  natural  disposition,  for 
thai  only  just  serves  to  make  folks  good-natured  when  they 
are  pleased,  and  patient  when  they  have  nothing  to  vex 
them.  James  went  upon  higher  ground.  He  brought  his 
ion  into  all  his  actions  ;  he  did  not  give  way  to  abusive 
language,  because  he  knew  it  was  a  sin.  He  did  not  use 
his  apprentices  ill,  because  he  knew  he  had  himself  a  Master 
in  heaven. 

Ee  knew  he  owed  his  present  happy  situation  to  the 
kindness  of  the  creditors.  But  did  he  grow  easy  and  care- 
less because  he  knew  he  had  such  friends?  No  indeed.  He 
worked  with  double  diligence  in  order  to  get  out  of  debt, 
and  to  let  these  friends  see  he  did  not  abuse  their  kindness. 
Such  behavior  as  this  is  the  greatest  encouragement  in  the 
world  to  rich  p  ,  lend  a  little  money.     It  creates 

friends,  and  it  keeps  them. 

Ilis  shoes  and  boots  were  made  in  the  besl  manner;  this 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  5D 

got  him  business ;  be  set  out  with  a  rule  to  tell  no  lies,  and 
deceive  no  customers  ;  this  secured  his  business.  He  had 
two  reasons  for  not  promising-  to  send  home  goods  when  he 
knew  he  should  not  be  ablu  to  keep  his  word.  The  first, 
because  he  knew  a  lie  was  a  sin,  the  next,  because  it  was  a 
folly.  There  is  no  credit  sooner  worn  out  than  that  which 
is  gained  by  false  pretenses.  After  a  little  while  no  one  is 
deceived  by  them.  Falsehood  is  so  soon  detected,  that  I 
believe  most  tradesmen  are  the  poorer  for  it  in  the  long 
run.  Deceit  is  the  worst  part  of  a  shopkeeper's  stock  in 
trade. 

James  was  now  at  the  head  of  a  family.  This  is  a  seri- 
ous situation  (said  he  to  himself,  one  fine  summer's  even- 
ing, as  he  stood  leaning  over  the  half-door  of  his  shop  to 
enjoy  a  little  fresh  air) ;  I  am  now  master  of  a  family.  My 
cares  are  doubled,  and  so  are  my  duties.  I  see  the  higher 
one  gets  in  life  the  more  one  has  to  answer  for.  Let  me 
now  call  to  mind  the  sorrow  I  used  to  feel  when  I  was  made 
to  carry  work  home  on  a  Sunday  by  an  ungodly  master  : 
and  let  me  now  keep  the  resolution  I  then  formed. 

So  what  his  heart  found  righ.1  to  do,he  resolved  to  do 
quickly;  and  he  set  out  at  first  as  he  meant  to  go  on.  The 
Sunday  was  truly  a  day  of  rest  at  Mr.  Stock's.  He  would 
not  allow  a  pair  of  shoes  to  be  given  out  on  that  day,  to 
oblige  the  best  customer  he  had.  And  what  did  he  lose 
by  it  ?  Why,  nothing.  For  when  the  people  were  once 
used  to  it,  they  liked  Saturday  night  just  as  well.  But  had 
it  been  otherwise,  he  would  have  given  up  his  gains  to  his 
conscience. 

SHOWING    HOW    Mil.    STOCK    BEHAVED    TO    IKS    APPRENTICES. 

When  he  got  up  in  the  world  so  far  as  to  have  appren- 
tices, he  thoughl  himself  as  accountable  lor  their  behavior 
as  if  they  had   been  his  children,     lb1   was  very  kind  to 


60  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

them,  and  had  a  cheerful  merry  way  of  talking  to  them,  so 
that  the  lads  who  had  seen  too  much  of  swearing,  reprobate 
masters,  were  fond  of  him.  They  were  never  afraid  of 
speaking  to  him  ;  they  told  him  all  their  little  troubles,  and 
considered  their  master  as  their  best  friend,  for  they  said 
they  would  do  any  thing  for  a  good  word  and  a  kind  look. 
As  he  did  not  swear  at  them  when  they  had  been  guilty  of 
a  fault,  they  did  not  lie  to  him  to  conceal  it,  and  thereby 
make  one  fault  two.  But  though  he  was  very  kind,  he  was 
very  watchful  also,  for  he  did  not  think  neglect  any  part  of 
kindness.  He  brought  them  to  adopt  one  very  pretty 
method,  which  was,  on  a  Sunday  evening  to  divert  them- 
selves with  wilting  out  half  a  dozen  texts  of  Scripture  in  a 
neat  copy-book  wdth  gilt  covers.  You  have  the  same  at 
any  of  the  stationers ;  they  do  not  cost  above  fourpence 
and  will  last  nearly  a  year. 

When  the  boys  carried  him  their  books,  he  justly  com- 
mended him  whose  texts  were  written  in  the  fairest  hand. 
"And  now,  my  boys,''  said  he,  "  let  us  see  which  of  you  will 
learn  your  texts  best  in  the  course  of  the  week ;  he  who 
does  this  shall  choose  for  next  Sunday."  Thus  the  boys 
soon  got  many  psalms  and  chapters  by  heart,  almost  with- 
out knowing  how  they  came  by  them.  He  taught  them 
how  to  make  a  practical  usi  of  what  they  learned:  "for," 
said  he,  "it  will  answer  little  purpose  to  learn  texts  if  we 
do  not  try  to  live  up  to  them."  One  of  the  boys  being  . 
to  play  in  his  absence,  and  to  run  back  again  to  his  work 
when  he  heard  his  master's  step,  he  brought  him  to  a  sense 
of  his  fault  by  the  last  Sunday's  text,  which  happened  to  be 
the  sixth  of  Ephesians.  lie  showed  him  what  was  meant 
by  being  obedient  to  his  master  in  singleness  of  heart  as 
unto  Christ,  and  explained  to  him  with  so  much  kindD 
what  it  was,  not  to  work  with  eye-service  as  men-p7.easers, 
but  doing  the  will  of  God  from  the  heart,  that  the  lad  said 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  CI 

he  should  never  forget  it,  and  it  did  more  toward  curing  him 
of  idleness  than  the  soundest  horse-whipping  would  have  done. 

HOW    MR.    STOCK    GOT    OUT    OF    DEBT. 

Stock's  behavior  was  very  regular,  and  he  was  much  be- 
loved for  bis  kind  and  peaceable  temper.  lie  had  also  a 
good  reputation  for  skill  in  his  trade,  and  his  industry  was 
talked  of  through  the  whole  town,  so  that  he  had  soon 
more  work  than  he  could  possibly  do.  He  paid  all  his 
dealers  to  the  very  day,  and  took  care  to  carry  bis  interest 
money  to  the  creditors  the  moment  it  became  duo.  In  two 
or  three  years  he  was  able  to  begin  to  pay  oil'  a  small  part 
of  the  principal.  His  reason  for  being  so  eager  to  pay 
money  as  soon  as  it  became  due,  was  this  :  he  had  observe- 1 
tradesmen,  and  especially  his  old  master,  put  off  the  day 
of  payment  as  long  as  they  could,  even  though  they  had 
the  means  of  paying  in  their  power.  This  deceived  them  : 
for  having  money  in  their  pockets  they  forgot  it  belonged 
to  the  creditor,  and  not  to  themselves,  and  so  got  to  fancy 
they  were  rich  when  they  were  really  poor.  This  false  no- 
tion led  them  to  indulge  in  idle  expenses,  whereas,  if  they 
had  paid  regularly,  they  would  have  bad  this  one  tempta- 
tion the  less:    a  young  tradesman,  when  he  is  going  to 

ad  money,  should  at.  least  ask  himself,  "  Whether  this 
money  i.s  his  (iw  n  c,  '  :'1     This  little  question 

miglii  help  to  prevenl  many  a  bankruptcy. 

A  true  Christian  always  goes  heartily  to  work  to  find  out 
what  is  his  besetting  sin  ;  and  when  he  has  found  it  (which 
he  easily  may  if  he  looks  sharp),  against  this  sin  he  watches 
narrowly.     Now  I  know  it  is  the  fashion  amon  folks 

(and  a  bad  fashion  it  is),  to  fancy  that  good  people  have  no 
sin;  but  this  only  shows  their  ignorance.     It  is  not  true. 
That  good  man,  St.  Paul,  knew  better.*     And  when  men  do 
*  See  Romans,  vii. 


62  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

not  own  their  sins,  it  is  not  because  there  is  no  sin  in  their 
hearts,  but  because  they  are  not  anxious  to  search  for  it,  nor 
humble  to  confess  it,  nor  penitent  to  mourn  over  it.  But 
this  was  not  the  case  with  James  Stock.  "  Examine  your- 
selves truly,"  said  he,  "  is  no  bad  part  of  the  catechism." 
He  began  to  be  afraid  that  his  desire  of  living  creditably, 
and  without  being  a  burden  to  any  one,  might,  under  the 
mask  of  honesty  and  independence,  lead  him  into  pride  and 
covetousness.  He  feared  that  the  bias  of  his  heart  lay  that 
way.  So  instead  of  being  proud  of  his  sobriety;  instead 
of  bragging  that  he  never  spent  his  money  idly,  nor  went  to 
the  ale-house  ;  instead  of  boasting  how  hard  he  worked  and 
how  he  denied  himself,  he  strove  in  secret  that  even  these 
good  qualities  might  not  grow  out  of  a  wrong  root.  The 
following  event  was  of  use  to  him  in  the  way  of  indulging 
any  disposition  to  covetousness. 

One  evening  as  he  was  standing  at  the  door  of  his  shop, 
a  poor  dirty  boy,  without  stockings  and  shoes,  came  up  and 
asked  him  for  a  bit  of  broken  victuals,  for  he  had  eaten 
nothing  all  day.  In  spite  of  his  dirt  and  rags  he  was  a 
very  pretty,  lively,  civil  spoken  boy,  and  Mr.  Stock  could 
not  help  thinking  he  knew  something  of  his  face.  He 
fetched  him  out  a  good  piece  of  bread  and  cheese,  and 
while  the  boy  was  devouring  it,  asked  him  if  he  had  no  pa- 
rents, and  why  he  went  about  in  that  vagabond  manner  ? 
"  Daddy  has  been  dead  some  years,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  he  died 
in  a  fit  over  at  the  Grayhound.  Mammy  says  he  used  to 
live  at  this  shop,  and  then  we  did  not  want  for  clothes  nor 
victuals  neither."  Stock  was  melted  almost  to  tears  on 
finding  that  this  dirty  beggar  boy  was  Tommy  Williams, 
the  son  of  his  old  master.  Tie  blessed  God  on  comparing 
his  own  happy  condition  with  that  of  this  poor  destitute 
child,  but  he  was  not  prouder  at  the  comparison  ;  and  while 
he  was  thankful  for  his  own  prosperity,  he   piti  d  the  help- 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  Gd 

less  boy.  "  Where  have  you  been  living  of  late  V  said  he 
to  hirn,  "  for  I  understand  you  all  went  home  to  your  moth- 
er's friends."  "  So  we  did,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  "  but  they  are 
grown  tired  of  maintaining  us,  because  they  said  that  mam- 
my spent  all  the  money  which  should  have  gone  to  buy 
victuals  for  us,  on  snuff  and  drams.  And  so  they  have  sent 
us  back  to  this  place,  which  is  daddy's  parish." 

"  And  where  do  you  live  here  ?"  said  Mr.  Stock.  "  0,  sir, 
we  were  all  put  into  the  parish  poor-house."  "  And  does 
your  mother  do  any  thing  to  help  to  maintain  you?" 
"  No,  sir,  for  mammy  says  she  was  not  brought  up  to  work 
like  poor  folks,  and  she  would  rather  starve  than  spin  or 
knit ;  so  she  lies  a-bed  all  the  morning,  and  sends  us  about 
to  pick  up  what  we  can,  a  bit  of  victuals  or  a  few  half- 
pence." "  And  have  you  any  money  in  your  pocket  now  V 
"  Yes,  sir,  I  have  got  three  half-pence  which  I  have  begged 
to-day."  "Then,  as  you  were  so  very  hungry,  how  came 
you  not  to  buy  a  roll  at  that  baker's  over  the  way  ?"  "  Be- 
cause, sir,  1  was  going  to  lay  it  out  in  tea  for  mammy,  for  I 
never  lay  out  a  farthing  for  myself.  Indeed  mammy  says 
she  will  have  her  tea  twice  a-day  if  wc  beg  or  starve  for  it." 
"Can  you  read,  my  boy  ?"  said  Mr.  Stock:  "A  little,  sir, 
and  say  my  prayers  too."  "And  can  you  say  your  cate- 
chism ?"  "  I  have  almost  forgotten  it  all,  sir,  though  I  re- 
member something  about  honoring  my  father  and  mother, 
and  that  makes  me  still  carry  the  half-pence  home  to  mam- 
my instead  of  buying  cakes."  "Who  taught  you  these 
good  things  ?"  "One  Jemmy  Stock,  sir,  who  was  a  parish 
'prentice  to  my  daddy,     lie  taught  me  one  question  out  of 

atechism  every  night,  and  always  made  me  say  my  | 
ers  to  him   before  I  went  to  bed.     He  told  me  i  should  go 
to  the  wicke  !  place  if  I  did  not  fear  Cod.  so  I  am  aid 

to  tell  lies  like  the  other  boys.    Poor  Jemmy  gave  me  a  piei 
of  ginger  bread   every  time    I    learnt  weil.    but   I   have  no 


G4  TUE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

friend  now  ;  Jemmy  was  very  good  to  me,  though  mammy 
did  nothing  but  beat  him." 

Mr.  Stock  was  too  much  moved  to  carry  on  the  discourse ; 
he  did  not  make  himself  known  to  the  boy,  but  took  him 
over  to  the  baker's  shop ;  as  they  walked  along  he  could 
not  help  repeating  aloud  a  verse  or  two  of  that  beautiful 
hymn  so  deservedly  the  favorite  of  all  children  : 

"  Not  more  than  others  I  deserve, 
Yet  God  hath  given  me  more  ; 
For  I  have  food  while  others  starve, 
Or  beg  from  door  to  door." 

The  little  boy  looked  up  iu  his  face,  saying,  "  Why,  sir, 
that's  the  very  hymn  which  Jemmy  Stock  gave  me  a  penny 
for  learning."  Stock  made  no  answer,  but  put  a  couple  of 
threepenny  loaves  into  his  hand  to  carry  home,  and  told 
him  to  c«Jl  on  him  again  at  such  a  time  in  the  following 
week. 

HOW    MR.    STOCK     CONTRIVED     TO    BE     CHARITABLE    WITHOUT 

ANY  EXPENSE. 

Stock  had  abundant  subject  for  meditation  that  night. 
lie  was  puzzled  what  to  do  with  the  boy.  While  he  was 
carrying  on  his  trade  upon  borrowed  money,  he  did  not 
think  it  right  to  give  an;y  part  of  that  money,  to  assist  the 
idle,  or  even  help  the  distressed.  "  I  must  be  just,"  said  he, 
E  iiv  I  am  generous.''  Still  he  could  not  bear  to  see  tliis 
fine  boy  given  up  to  a  certain  ruin.  He  did  not  think  it 
safe  to  take  him  into  his  shop  in  his  preseni  ignorant,  unprin- 
cipled state.  At  last  he  hi!  upon  this  thought  :  I  work  for 
it'  twelve  hours  in  theday.  Why  shall  I  not  work  one 
hour  or  two  for  this  boy  in  the  evening  .'  It  will  be  but  for 
a  year,  and  I  shall  then  have  more  right  to  do  what  I  please. 
My  money  will  then  be  my  own  :  I  shall  have  paid  my 
debts. 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  65 

So  he  began  to  put  his  resolution  in  practice  that  very 
night,  sticking  to 'his  old  notion  of  not  puting  off  till  to- 
morrow what  should  be  done  to-day :  and  it  was  thought 
he  owed  much  of  his  success  in  life,  as  well  as  his  growth 
in  goodness,  to  this  little  saying:  "I  am  young  and 
healthy,"  said  he,  "  one  hour's  work  more  will  do  me  no 
harm ;  I  will  set  aside  all  I  get  by  these  over-hours,  and 
put  the  boy  to  school.  I  have  not  only  no  right  to  punish 
this  child  for  the  sins  of  his  father,  but  I  consider  that 
though  God  hated  those  -sins,  he  has  made  them  to  be  in- 
strumental  to  my  advancement." 

Tommy  "Williams  called  at  the  time  appointed.  In  the 
mean  time  Mr.  Stock's  maid  had  made  him  a  neat  little  suit 
of  clothes  of  an  old  coat  of  her  master's.  She  had  also 
knit  him  a  pair  of  stockings,  and  Mr.  Stock  made  him  sit 
down  in  the  shop,  while  he  fitted  him  with  a  pair  of  new 
shoes.  The  maid  having  washed  and  dressed  him,  Stock 
took  him  by  the  hand,  and  walked  along  with  him  to  the 
parish  poor-house  to  find  his  mother.  They  found  her 
dressed  in  ragged,  filthy  finery,  standing  at  the  door,  where 
she  passed  most  of  her  time,  quarreling  with  half  a  dozen 
women  as  idle  and  dirty  as  herself.  When  she  saw  Tommy 
so  neat  and  well-dressed,  she  fell  a  crying  for  joy.  She  said 
"it put  her  in  mind  of  old  times,  for  Tommy  always  used 
to  be  dressed  like  a  gentleman."  "  So  much  the  worse,"  said 
Mr.  Stock;  "if  you  had  not  begun  hy  making  him  look  like 
agentleman,  you  needed  not  have  ended  by  making  him  look 
like  a  beggar."  "Oh  Jem !"  said  she  (for  though  it  was 
four  yeai-s  since  she  had  seen  him  she  soon  recollected  him), 
"fiue  times  for  you  !  Set  a  beggar  on  horseback — you  know 
the  proverb.  T  shall  beat  Tommy  well  for  finding  you  out 
and  exnosine-  me  to  you." 

Instead  of  entering  into  a  dispute  with  this  had  woman,' 
or  praising  himself  at  her  expense;  instead  of  putting  her 


OG  THE    TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

in  mind  of  her  past  ill  behavior  to  him,  or  reproaching  her 
with  the  bad  use  she  had  made  of  her  prosperity,  he  mildly 
said  to  her,  "Mrs.  Williams  I  am  sorry  for  your  misfor- 
1  lines;  1  am  come  to  relieve  you  of  part  of  your  burden. 
I  will  fake  Tommy  off  your  hands.  I  will  give  him  a  year's 
board  and  schooling,  and  by  that  time  I  shall  see  what  he 
is  fit  for.  T  will  promise  nothing,  but  if  the  boy  turns  out 
well,  I  will  never  forsake  him.  I  shall  make  but  one  bargain 
with  you,  which  is,  that  he  must  not  come  to  this  place  to 
hear  all  this  railing  and  swearing,  nor  shall  he  keep  com- 
pany with  these  pilfering,  idle  children.  You  are  welcome 
to  go  and  see  him  when  you  please,  but  here  he  must  not 
come." 

The  foolish  woman  burst  out  a  crying,  saying,  "she 
should  lose  her  poor  dear  Tommy  forever.  Mi  Stock 
might  give  her  the  money  lie  intended  to  pay  at  the  school, 
for  nobody  could  do  so  well  by  him,  as  his  own  mother." 
The  truth  was,  she  wanted  to  get  these  new  clothes  into 
her  clutches,  which  would  have  been  pawned  at  the  dram- 
shop before  the  week  was  out.  This  Mr.  Stock  well  knew. 
From  crying  she  fell  to  scolding  and  swearing.  She  told 
him  he  was  an  unnatural  wretch,  that  wanted  to  make  a 
child  despise  his  own  mother  because  she  was  poor.  She 
even  went  so  far  as  to  say  she  would  not  part  from  him ; 
die  said  she  hated  your  godly  people,  they  had  no  bowels 
of  compassion,  but  tried  to  set  men,  women,  and  children 
against  their  own  flesh  and  blood. 

Mr.  Stork  now  almost  lost  his  patience,  and  for  one  mo- 
ment a  though!  came  across  him,  to  strip  the  boy,  cany 
back  the  clothes,  and  leave  him  to  his  unnatural  mother. 
"Why,"  said  he,  "should  I  work  over-hours,  and  wear  out 
my  strength  for  this  wicked  woman  ?"  But  soon  he  checked 
'this  thought,  by  reflecting  on  the  patience  and  long-suffer- 
ing of  God  with  rebellious  sinners.     This  cured  his  anger  in 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  07 

a  moment,  and  he  mildly  reasoned  with  her  on  her  folly 
and  blindness  in  opposing  the  good  of  her  child. 

One  of  the  neighbors  who  stood  by  said,  "What  a  fine 
thing  it  was  for  the  boy  !  but  some  people  were  born  to  be 
lucky.  She  wished  Mr.  Stock  would  take  a  fancy  to  her 
child,  he  should  have  him  soon  enough."  Mrs.  Williams 
now  began  to  be  frightened  lest  Mr.  Stock  should  take  the 
woman  at  her  word,  and  sullenly  consented  to  let  the  boy 
go,  from  envy  and  malice,  not  from  prudence  and  gratitude  ; 
and  Tommy  was  sent  to  school  that  very  night,  his  mother 
crying  and  roaring  instead  of  thanking  God  for  such  a 
blessing. 

And  here  I  can  not  forbear  telling  a  very  good-natured 
thing  of  Will  Simpson,  one  of  the.  workmen.  By  the  by,  it 
was  that  very  young  fellow  who  was  reformed  by  Stock's 
good  example,  when  he  was  an  apprentice,  and  who  used  to 
sing  psalms  with  him  on  a  Sunday  evening,  when  they  got 
out  of  the  way  of  Williams's  junketing.  Will  coming  home 
early  one  evening  was  surprised  to  find  his  master  at  work 
by  himself,  long  after  the  usual  time.  lie  begged  so  heart- 
ily to  know  the  reason,  that  Stock  owned  the  truth.  Will 
was  so  struck  with  this  piece  of  '..'  ,  that,  he  snatched 

up  a  last,  ciying  out,  "  Well,  master,  you  shall  not  work  by 
yourself,  however ;  we  will  go  snacks  in  maintaining  Tom- 
my :  it  shall  never  be  said  that  Will  Simpson  Avas  idling 
about  wh< 'ii  his  master  was  working  for  charity."  This 
made  the  hour  pass  cheerfully,  and  doubled  the  profits. 

In  a  year  or  two  Mr.  Stock,  by  God's  blessing  on  his 
labors,  became  quite  dear  of  the  world.  Ee  now  paid  off 
his  creditors,  but  he  neverforgol  his  obligation  to  them,  and 
found  many  opportunities  of  showing  kindness  to  them,  and 
to  their  children  al  m.    Be  now  casl  about  for  a  prop- 

er wife,  and  as  he  was  thought  a  prosperous  man,  and  was 
very  well  looking  besides,  most  of  the  smart  girls  of  the 


68  TIIE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

place,  with  their  tawdry  finery,  used  to  be  often  parading 
before  the  shop,  and  would  even  go  to  church  in  order  to 
put  themselves  in  his  way.  But  Mr.  Stock  when  he  went 
to  church,  had  other  things  in  his  head ;  and  if  ever  he 
thought  about  these  gay  damsels  at  all,  it  was  with  concern 
in  seeing  them  so  improperly  tricked  out,  so  that  the  very 
means  they  took  to  please  him  made  him  dislike  them. 

There  was  one  Betsy  West,  a  young  woman  of  excellent 
character,  and  very  modest  appearance.  He  had  seldom 
seen  her  out,  as  she  was  employed  night  and  day  in  wait- 
ing on  an  aged,  widowed  mother,  who  was  both  lame  and 
blind.  This  good  girl  was  almost  literally  eyes  and  feet  to 
her  helpless  parent,  and  Mr.  Stock  used  to  see  her,  through 
the  little  casement  window,  lifting  her  up,  and  feeding  her 
witji  a  tenderness  which  greatly  raised  his  esteem  for  her. 
He  used  to  tell  Will  Simpson,  as  they  sat  at  work,  that 
such  a  dutiful  daughter  could  hardly  help  to  make  a  faith- 
ful wife.  He  had  not,  however,  the  heart  to  try  to  draw 
her  off  from  the  care  of  her  sick  mother.  The  poor  woman 
declined  very  fast.  Betsy  was  much  employed  in  reading 
or  praying  by  her,  while  she  was  awake,  and  passed  a  good 
part  of  the  night  while  she  slept,  in  doing  some  fine  works 
to  sell,  in  order  to  supply  her  sick  mother  with  little  delica- 
cies which  their  poor  pittance  could  not  afford,  while  she 
herself  lived  on  a  crust. 

Mr.  Stock  knew  that  Betsy  would  have  little  or  nothing 
after  her  mother's  death,  as  she  had  only  a  life  income.  On 
the  other  hand,  Mr.  Thompson,  the  tanner,  had  offered  him 
two  hundred  pounds  with  Ids  daughter  Nancy  ;  but  he  was 
almost  sorry  that  he  had  not  in  this  case  an  opportunity  of 
resisting  his  natural  Mas,  which  rather  lay  on  the  side  of 
loving  money.  "  For,"  said  he,  "  putting  principle  and  put- 
ting affection  out  of  the  question,  I  shall  do  a  more  prudent 
thing  by  marrying  Betsy  West,  who  will  conform  to  her 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  69 

station,  and  is  a- religions,  humble,  industrious  girl,  without 
a  shilling,  than  by  having  au  idle  dressy  lass,  who  will 
neglect  my  family  and  fill  my  house  with  company,  though 
she  should  have  twice  the  fortune  which  Nancy  Thompson 
would  bring," 

At  length  poor  old  Mrs.  West  was  released  from  all  her 
sufferings.  At  a  proper  time  Mr.  Stock  proposed  marriage 
to  Betsy,  and  was  accepted.  All  the  disappointed  girls  in 
the  town  wondered  what  any  body  could  like  in  such  a 
dowdy  as  that.  Had  the  man  no  eyes?  They  thought 
Mr.  Stock  had  more  taste.  Oh  !  how  it  did  provoke  all  the 
vain,  idle  things  to  find,  that  staying  at  home,  dressing  plain- 
ly, serving  God,  and  nursing  a  blind  mother,  should  do  that 
for  Betsy  West,  which  all  their  contrivances,  flaunting,  and 
dancinof,  could  not  do  for  them. 

He  was  not  disappointed  in  his  hope  of  meeting  with  a 
good  wife  in  Betsy,  as  indeed  those  who  marry  on  right 
grounds  seldom  are.  But  if  religious  persons  will,  for  the 
sake  of  money,  choose  partners  for  life  who  have  no  religion, 
do  not  let  them  complain  that  they  are  unhappy  :  they 
might  have  known  that  beforehand. 

Tommy  Williams  was  now  taken  home  to  Mr.  Stock's 
house  and  bound  apprentice.  He  was  always  kind  and  at- 
tentive to  his  mother ;  and  every  penny  which  Will  Simp- 
son or  his  master  gave  him  for  learning  a  chapter,  he  would 
save  to  buy  a  bit  of  tea  ami  sugar  for  her.  When  the 
other  boys  laughed  at  him  for  being  so  foolish  as  to  deny 
"himself  cakes  and  apples  to  give  his  money  to  her  who  was 
so  bad  a  woman,  he  would  answer,  "  It  may  be  so,  but  she 
is  my  mother  lor  nil  that" 

Mr.  Stock  was  much  moved  at  the  change  in  this  bey, 
who  turned  out  a  very  good  youtli.  He  resolved,  as  God 
should  prosper  bim,  thai  he  would  try  to  snatch  other  help- 
less creatures  from   sin  and  ruin.     "For,"  said  he,  "  it  is 


70  THE     TWO     SHOliMAKERS, 

owing  to  God's  blessing  on  the -instructions  of  my  good 
minister  when  I  was  a  child,  that  I  have  been  saved  from 
the  broad  way  of  destruction."  He  still  gave  God  the  glory 
of  every  thing  he  did  aright:  and  when  Will  Simpson  one 
day  said  to  him,  "  Master,  I  wish  I  were  half  as  good  as  you 
are."  "  Hold,  William,"  answered  he  gravely,  "  I  once  read 
in  a  book,  that  the  devil  is  willing  enough  we  should  ap- 
pear to  do  good  actions,  if  he  can  but  make  us  proud  of 
Hum]." 

But  we  must  not  forget  our  other  old  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Stock's  fellow  'prentice.  So  next  month  you  may  expect  a 
full  account  of  the  many  tricks  and  frolics  of  idle  JacV 
Brown. 


PART     III. 

SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  FROLICS  OF  IDLE  JACK  BROWN. 

You  shall  now  hear  what  befell  idle  Jack  Brown,  who, 
being  a  fanner's  son,  had  many  advantages  to  begin  life 
with.  But  he  who  wants  prudence  may  be  said  to  want 
every  tiling,  because  he  turns  all  his  advantages  to  no 
account. 

Jack  Brown  was  just  out  of  his  time  when  his  master 
Williams  died  in  that  terrible  drunken  fit  at  the  Grayhound. 
You  know  already  how  Stock  succeeded  to  his  master's 
,  and  prospered  in  it.  Jack  wished  very  much  to 
eiitei-  into  partnership  with  him.  liis  father  and  mother 
too  were  desirous  of  it,  and  offered  to  advance  a  hundred 
pounds  with  him.  Here  is  a  fresh  proof  of  the  power  oi 
character!  The  old  farmer,  with  all  his  covetousness,  was 
eager  to  get  his  son  into  partnership  with  Stock,  though 


THE      TWO      SHOEMAKEltS.  71 

the  latter  was  not  worth  a  shilling ;  and  even  Jack's  moth- 
er, with  all  her  pride,  was  eager  for  it,  for  they  had  both 
sense  enough  to  see  it  would  be  the  making  of  Jack.  The 
father  knew  that  Stock  would  look  to  the  main  chance; 
and  the  mother  that  he  would  take  the  laboring  oar,  and 
so  her  darling  would  have  little  to  do.  The  ruling  passion 
operated  in  both.  One  parent  wished  to  secure  the  son  a 
life  of  pleasure,  the  other  a  profitable  trade.  Both  were 
equally  indifferent  to  whatever  related  to  his  eternal 
good. 

Stock,  however,  young  as  he  was,  was  too  old  a  bird  to 
be  caught  with  chaff.  His  wisdom  was  an  overmatch  for 
their  cunning.  lie  had  a  kindness  for  Brown,  hut  would 
on  no  account  enter  into  business  with  him.  "  One  of  these 
three  things,"  said  lie,  "I  am  sure  will  happen  if  I  do;  he 
will  either  hurt  my  principles,  my  character,  or  my  trade ; 
perhaps  all."  And  here  by-the-by,  let  me  drop  a  hint  to  other 
young  men  who  are  about  to  enter  into  partnership.  Let 
them  not  do  that  in  haste  which  they  may  repent  at  leisure. 
Next  to  marriage  it  is  a  tie  the  hardest  to  break ;  and  next 
to  that  it  is  an  engagement  which  ought  to  be  entered  into 
with  the  most  caution.  Many  things  go  to  the  making 
such  a  connection  suitable,  salt;,  and  pleasant.  There  is 
many  a  rich  merchant  need  not  be  above  taking  a  hint  in 
this  respect,  from  James  S  ock  the  shoemaken 

Brown  was  still  unwilling  to  part  from  him;  indeed  lie 
was  too  idle  to  look  out  for  business,  so  he  offered  Stuck  to 
work  with  him  as  a  journeyman,  but  tins  he  also  mildly 
refused.  It  butt  his  good  nature  to  do  so  ;  but  he  reflected 
that  a  young  man  who  baa  his  way  to  make  in  the  world, 
must  not  only  be  good-natured,  he  must  be  prudent  also. 
"I  am  resolved,"  said  he,  "to  employ  none  but  the  most 
sober,  regular  young  men  1  can  get.  Evil  communicatii 
corrupt  good  manners,  and  I  should  be  answerable  for  all 


72  TUE     TWO      SHOEMAKERS. 

the  disorders  of  my  house,  if  I  knowingly  took  a  wild,  drink- 
ing young  fellow  into  it.  That  which  might  be  kindness  to 
one,  would  be  injustice  to  many,  and  therefore  a  sin  in  my- 
self." 

Brown's  mother  was  in  a  great  rage  when  she  heard  that 
her  son  had  stooped  so  low  as  to  make  this  offer.  She 
valued  herself  on  being  proud,  for  she  thought  pride  was  a 
grand  thing.  Poor  woman  !  She  did  not  know  that  it  is 
the  meanest  thing  in  the  world.  It  was  her  ignorance 
which  made  her  proud,  as  is  apt  to  be  the  case.  "  You 
mean-spin  ted  rascal,"  she  said  to  Jack,  "  I  had  rather  follow 
you  to  your  grave,  as  well  as  I  love  you,  than  see  you  dis- 
grace your  family  by  working  under  Jem  Stock,  the  parish 
apprentice."  She  forgot  already  what  pains  she  had  taken 
about  the  partnership,  but  pride  and  passion  have  bad 
memories. 

It  is  hard  to  say  which  was  now  uppermost  in  her  mind, 
her  desire  to  be  revenged  on  Stock,  or  to  see  her  son  make 
a  figure.  She  raised  every  shilling  she  could  get  from  her 
husband,  and  all  she  could  crib  from  the  dairy  to  set  up 
Jack  in  a  showy  way.  So  the  very  next  market  day  she 
came  herself,  and  took  for  him  the  new  white  house,  with 
the  two  little  sash  windows  painted  blue,  and  blue  posts 
before  the  door.  It  is  that  house  which  has  the  old  cross 
just  before  it,  as  you  turn  down  between  the  church  and 
the  Grayhound.  Its  being  so  near  the  church  to  be  sure 
was  no  recommendation  to  Jack,  but  its  being  so  near  the 
Grayhound  was,  ami  so  taking  one  thing  with  the  other  it 
was  to  be  sure  no  bad  situation;  but  what  weighed  most 
with  the  mother  was,  that  it  was  a  much  more  showy  shop 
than  Stock's;  and  the  house,  though  not  half  so  convenient, 
was  Car  more  smart. 

In  order  to  draw  custom,  his  foolish  mother  advised  him 
to  undersell  his  neighbors  just  at  first ;  to  buy  ordinary  but 


THE     TWO      SHOEMAKER'S.  73 

showy  goods,  and  to  employ  cheap  workmen.  In  short  she 
charered  him  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  ruin  his  old 
comrade  Stock.  Indeed  she  always  thought  with  double 
satisfaction  of  Jack's  prosperity,  because  she  always  joined  to 
it  the  hope  that  his  success  would  be  the  ruin  of  Stock,  for 
she  owned  it  would  be  the  joy  of  her  heart  to  bring  that 
proud  upstart  to  a  morsel  of  bread.  She  did  not  under- 
stand, for  her  part,  why  such  beggars  must  become  trades- 
men;  it  was  making  a  velvet  purse  of  a  sow's  ear. 

Stock,  however,  set  out  on  quite  another  set  of  principles. 
He  did  not  allow  himself  to  square  his  own  behavior  to 
others  by  theirs  to  him.  He  seldom  asked  himself  what  he 
should  like  to  do  :  but  he  had  a  mighty  way  of  saying,  "  I 
wonder  now  what  is  my  duty  to  do?"  And  when  he  was 
once  clear  in  that  matter  he  generally  did  it,  always  heg- 
ging  God's  blessing  and  direction.  So  instead  of  setting 
Brown  at  defiance  ;  instead  of  all  that  vulgar  selfishness,  of 
catch  he  that  catch  can — and  two  of  a  trade  can  never 
agree — he  resolved  to  be  friendly  toward  him.  Instead  of 
joining  in  the  laugh  against  Brown  for  making  his  house 
so  fine,  he  was  sorry  for  him,  because  he  feared  he  would 
never  be  able  to  pay  such  a  rent.  He  very  kindly  called 
upon  him,  told  him  there  was  business  enough  for  them 
both,  and  gave  him  many  useful  hints  lor  his  going  on. 
He  warned  him  to  go  oftener  to  church  and  seldoiner  to 
the  Grayhound  :  put  him  in  mind  how  following  the  one 
and  forsaking  the  9ther  had  been  the  ruin  of  their  poor 
master,  and  added  the  following 

ADVICE    TO    YOUNG    TRADESMEN. 

Buy  the  best  goods  ;  cut  the  ivork  out  yourself ;  let  the 

of  //"'  master  be  everywhere;  employ  the  soberest  unu  ; 

avoid  oil  the  low  deceits  of  trade  ;  never  lower  the  credit  of 

another  to  raise  your  own  ;  make  short  jxrymcnfs  ;  keep 

4 


74  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

exact  accounts  ;  avoid  idle  company,  and  be  very  strict  to 
your  word. 

For  a  short  time  things  went  on  swimmingly.  Brown 
was  merry  and  civil.  The  shop  was  well  situated  for  gos- 
sip ;  and  every  one  who  had  something  to  say,  and  nothing 
to  do  was  welcome.  Every  idle  story  was  first  spread,  and 
every  idle  song  first  sung,  in  Brown's  shop,  Every  cus- 
tomer who  came  to  be  measured  wTas  promised  that  his 
shoes  should  be  done  first.  But  the  misfortune  was,  if 
twenty  came  in  a  day  the  same  promise  was  made  to  all,  so 
that  nineteen  were  disappointed,  and  of  course  affronted. 
He  never  said  no  to  any  one.  It  is  indeed  a  word  which  it 
requires  some  honesty  to  pronounce.  By  all  these  false 
promises  he  was  thought  the  most  obliging  fellow  that  ever 
made  a  shoe.  And  as  he  set  out  on  the  principle  of  under- 
selling, people  took  a  mighty  fancy  to  the  cheap  shop. 
And  it  was  agreed  among  all  the  young  and  giddy,  that  he 
would  beat  Stock  all  hollow,  and  that  the  old  shop  would 
be  knocked  up. 

ALL   18    NOT    GOLD    THAT    GLISTENS. 

After  a  few  months,  however,  folks  began  to  be  not  quite 
so  fond  of  the  cheap  shop;  one  found  out  that  the  leather 
was  bad,  another  that  the  work  was  slight.  Those  who 
liked  substantial  goods  went  all  of  them  to  Stock's,  for  they 
said  Brown's  heel-taps  did  not  last  a  week;  his  new  boots 
let  in  water;  ami  they  believed  he  made  his  soles  of  brown 
paper.  Besides,  it  was  thought  by  most,  that  this  promis- 
ing all,  and  keeping  his  word  with  none,  hurt  his  business 
as  much  as  any  thing.  Indeed,  I  question,  putting  religion 
out  of  the  question,  if  lying  ever  answ<  rs,<  ven  in  a  political 
view. 

Brown  had  what  is  commonly  called  a  good  heart ;  that 
is,  he  had  a  thoughtless  good  nature,  and  a  sort  of  feeling 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  75 

for  the  moment  which  made  him  very  sorry  wheu  others 
were  in  trouble.  But  he  was  uot  apt  to  put  himself  to  any 
inconvenience,  nor  go  a  step  out  of  his  way,  nor  give  up 
any  pleasure  to  serve  the  best  friend  he  had.  He  loved 
fan  ;  and  those  who  do  should  always  see  that  it  be  harm- 
less, and  that  they  do  not  give  up  more  for  it  than  it  is 
worth.  I  am  not  going  to  say  a  word  against  innocent 
merriment.  I  like  it  myself.  But  what  the  proverb  says 
of  gold,  may  be  said  of  mirth  ;  it  may  be  bought  too  dear. 
If  a  young  man  finds  that  what  he  fancies  is  a  good  joke 
may  possibly  offend  God,  hurt  his  neighbor,  afflict  his 
parent,  or  make  a  modest  girl  blush,  let  him  then  be 
assured  it  is  not  fun,  but  wickedness,  and  he  had  better  let 
it  alone. 

Jack  Brown  then,  as  good  a  heart  as  he  had,  did  not 
know  what  it  was  to  deny  himself  any  thing.  He  was  so 
good-natured  indeed,  that  he  never  in  his  life  refused  to 
make  one  of  a  jolly  set ;  but  he  was  not  good-natured 
enough  to  consider  that  those  men  whom  he  kept  up  all 
night  roaring  and  laughing,  had  wives  and  children  at 
home,  who  had  little  to  eat,  and  less  to  wear,  because  they 
were  keeping  up  the  character  of  merry  fellows,  and  good 
hearts  at  the  public  house. 

THE    MOUNTEBANK. 

One  day  be  saw  his  father's  plow- boy  come  galloping 
up  to  the  door  in  great  haste.  This  boy  brought  Brown 
word  that  his  mother  was  dangerously  ill,  and  that  his 
father  had  sent  his  own  best  hay  mare  Smiler,  that  his  son 
might  lose  no  time,  but  set  out  directly  to  see  his  mother 
before  she  died,  -lack  burst  into  tears,  lamented  the  danger 
of  so  fond  a  mother,  and  all  the  people  in  the  shop  extolled 
bis  good  heart. 

He  sent  back  the  boy  directly,  with  a  message  that  ha 


76  THE     TWO      SHOEMAKERS. 

would  follow  him  iu  half  an  hour,  as  soon  as  the  mare  had 
baited  :  for  he  well  knew  that  his  father  would  not  thank 
him  for  any  haste  he  might  make  if  Smiler  was  hurt. 

Jack  accordingly  set  oft',  and  rode  with  such  speed  to  the 
next  town,  that  both  himself  and  Smiler  had  a  mind  to  an- 
other bait.  They  stopped  at  the  Star ;  unluckily  it  was 
fair-dav,  and  as  he  was  walking  about  while  Smiler  was 
eating  her  oats,  a  bill  was  put  in  his  hand  setting  forth,  that 
on  the  stage  opposite  the  Globe  a  mountebank  was  showing 
away,  and  his  Andrew  performing  the  finest  tricks  that  ever 
were  seen.  He  read — he  stood  still — he  went  on — "  It  will 
not  hinder  me,"  said  he ;  "  Smiler  must  rest ;  and  I  shall 
see  my  poor  dear  mother  quite  as  soon  if  I  just  take  a  peep, 
as  if  I  sit  moping  at  the  Star." 

The  tricks  were  so  merry  that  the  time  seemed  short, 
and  Avher  they  were  over  he  could  not  forbear  going  into 
the  Globe  and  treating  these  choice  spirits  with  a  bowl  of 
punch.  Just  as  they  were  taking  the  last  glass,  Jack  hap- 
pened to  say  he  was  the  best  fives  player  in  the  country. 
"  That  is  lucky,"  said  the  Andrew,  "  for  there  is  a  famous 
match  now  playing  at  the  court,  and  you  may  nevei  again 
have  such  an  opportunity  to  show  your  skill."  Brown  de- 
clared "  he  could  not  stay,  for  that  he  had  left  his  horse  at 
the  Star,  and  must  set  off  on  urgent  business."  They  now 
all  pretended  to  call  his  skill  in  question.  This  roused  his 
pride,  and  he  thought  another  half  hour  could  break  no 
squares.  Smiler  had  now  had  a  good  feed  of  corn,  and  he 
would  only  have  to  push  her  on  a  little  more  ;  so  to  it  he 
went. 

lie  won  the  first  game.  This  spurred  him  on  ;  and  he 
played  till  it  was  so  dark  they  could  not  see  a  ball.  An- 
other bowl  was  called  for  from  the  winner.  Wagers  am! 
bets  now  drained  Brown  not  only  of  all  the  money  he  had 
won,  but  of  all  he  had  in  his  pocket,  so  that  he  was  obliged 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  77 

to  ask  leave  to  go  to  the  house  where  his  horse  was,  to  bor- 
row enough  to  discharge  his  reckoning  at  the  Globe. 

All  these  losses  brought  his  poor  dear  mother  to  his 
mind,  and  he  marched  off  with  rather  a  heavy  heart  to  bor- 
row the  money,  and  to  order  Smiler  out  of  the  stable.  The 
landlord  expressed  much  surprise  at  seeing  him,  and  the 
ostler  declared  there  was  no  Smiler  there  ;  that  he  had 
been  rode  off  above  two  hours  ago  by  the  merry  Andrew, 
who  said  he  come  by  order  of  the  owner,  Mr.  Brown,  to 
fetch  him  to  the  Globe,  and  to  pay  for  his  feed.  It  was  in- 
deed one  of  the  neatest  tricks  the  Andrew  ever  performed, 
for  he  made  such  a  clean  conveyance  of  Smiler,  that  neither 
Jack  nor  his  father  ever  heard  of  her  again. 

It  was  night :  no  one  could  tell  what  road  the  Andrew 
took,  and  it  was  another  hour  or  two  before  an  advertise- 
ment could  be  drawn  up  for  apprehending  the  horse-stealer. 
Jack  had  some  doubts  whether  he  should  go  on  or  return 
back.  He  knew  that  though  his  father  might  fear  his  wife 
most,  yet  he  loved  Smiler  best.  At  length  he  took  that 
courage  from  a  glass  of  brandy  which  he  ought  to  have 
taken  from  a  hearty  repentance,  and  he  resolved  to  pursue 
his  journey.  He  was  obliged  to  leave  his  watch  and  silver 
buckles  in  pawn  for  a  little  old  hack,  which  was  nothing 
but  skin  and  bone,  and  would  hardly  trot  three  miles  an 
hour. 

He  knocked  at  his  father's  door  about  five  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  family  were  all  up.  He  asked  the  boy  who 
opened  the  door  how  his  mother  was?  "  She  is  dead," 
said  the  boy;  "she  died  yesterday  afternoon."  Here  Jack's 
heart  smote  him,  and  lie  cried  aloud,  partly  from  grief,  but 
more  from  the  reproaches  of  his  own  conscience,  tor  he 
found  by  computing  the  hours,  that  had  ho  come  straighl 
on,  he  should  have  been  in  time  to  receive  his  mother's 
blessing. 


78  THE     TWO    SHOEMAKERS. 

The  farmer  now  came  from  within,  "  I  hear  Smiler's  step. 
Is  Jack  come  ?"  "  Yes,  father,"  said  Jack,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Then,"  cried  the  farmer,  "  run  every  man  and  boy  of  you 
and  take  care  of  the  mare.  Tom,  do  thou  go  and  rub  her 
down  ;  Jem,  run  and  get  her  a  good  feed  of  corn.  Be 
Mire  walk  her  about  that  she  may  not  catch  cold."  Young 
Brown  came  in.  "  Are  you  not  an  undutiful  dog  ?"  said 
the  father  ;  " 3011  might  have  been  here  twelve  hours  ago. 
Your  mother  could  not  die  in  peace  without  seeing  you. 
She  said  it  was  cruel  return  for  all  her  fondness,  that  you 
could  not  make  a  little  haste  to  see  her  ;  but  it  was  always 
so,  for  she  had  wronged  her  other  children  to  help  you,  and 
this  was  her  reward."  Brown  sobbed  out  a  few  words,  but 
his  father  replied,  "  Never  cry,  Jack,  for  the  boy  told  me  that 
it  was  out  of  regard  for  Smiler,  that  you  were  not  here  as 
soon  as  he  was,  and  if  'twas  your  over  care  of  her,  why 
there's  no  great  harm  done.  You  could  not  have  saved 
your  poor  mother,  and  you  might  have  hurt  the  mare." 
Here  Jack's  double  guilt  flew  into  his  face.  He  knew  that 
his  father  vvo.3  very  covetous,  and  had  lived  on  bad  terms 
with  his  witl- ;  and  also  that  his  own  unkindness  to  her  had 
been  forgiven  by  him  out  of  love  to  the  horse;  but  to  break 
to  him  how  Ik-  had  lost  that  horse  through  his  own  folly 
and  want  of  f  'ling,  was  more  than  Jack  had  courage 
to  do.  The  old  man,  however,  soon  got  at  the  truth,  and 
no  words  can  desc  ibe  his  fury.  Forgetting  that  his  wife 
lay  dead  above  stairs,  he  abused  his  sou  in  a  way  not  fit  to 
be  repeated ;  and  though  his  covetousness  had  just  before 
found  an  excuse  for  a  favorite  son  neglecting  to  visit  a  dy- 
ing parent,  yet  he  now  vented  his  rag*;  against  Jack  as  an 
unnatural  brute,  whom  he  would  cut  oil'  with  a  shilling, 
and  bade  him  never  see  his  face  again. 

Jack   was  not  allowed  to  attend  his   mother's   funeral, 
which  was  a  real  grief  to  him  ;  nor  would  his  father  ad- 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  ^9 

vance  even  thedittle  money,  which,  was  needful  to  redeem 
his  things  at  the  Star.  He  had  now  no  fond  mother  to  as- 
sist  him,  and  he  set  out  on  his  return  home  on  his  borrowed 
hack,  full  of  grief.  He  had  the  added  mortification  of 
knowing  that  he  had  also  lost  by  his  folly  a  little  hoard  of 
money  which  his  mother  had  saved  up  for  him. 

When  Brown  got  back  to  his  own  town  he  found  that 
the  story  of  Smiler  and  the  Andrew  had  got  thither  before 
him,  and  it  was  thought  a  very  good  joke  at  the  Grayhound. 
He  soon  recovered  his  spirits  as  far  as  related  to  the  horse, 
but  as  to  his  behavior  to  his  dying  mother  it  troubled  him 
at  times  to  the  last  day  of  his  life,  though  he  did  all  he 
could  to  forget  it.  He  did  not,  however,  go  on  at  all  better, 
nor  did  he  engage  in  one  frolic  the  less  for  what  tad  passed 
at  the  Globe  ;  his  good  heart  continually  betrayed  him  into 
acts  of  levity  and  vanity. 

Jack  began  at  length  to  feel  the  reverse  of  that  proverb, 
Keep  your  shop  and  your  shop  will  keep  you.  He  had 
neglected  his  customers,  an  1  they  forsook  him.  Quarter- 
day  came  round  ;  there  was  much  to  pay  and  little  to  re- 
ceive. He  owed  two  years'  rent.  He  was  in  arrears  to 
his  men  for  wages.  He  had  a  long  account  with  his  cur- 
rier. It  was  in  vain  to  apply  to  his  father.  He  had  now 
no  mother.  Stock  was  the  only  true  friend  he  had  in  the 
world,  and  had  helped  him  out  of  many  petty  scrapes,  but 
he  knew  Stock  would  advance  no  money  in  so  hopeless  a 
■  3e.  Duns  came  fast  about  him.  He  named  a  speedy 
day  for  payment ;  but  a  s  soon  as  they  were  out  of  the  house, 
and  the  danger  put  off  to  a  little  distance,  he  forgot  every 
promise,  was  as  merry  as  ever,  and  run  the  same  round  of 
thoughtless  gayety.  Whenever  he  was  in  trouble,  Stock 
did  not  shun  him,  because  that  was  the  moment  to  throw 
in  a  little  good  advice.  He  one  day  asked  him  if  he  alwa; 
intended  to  go  on  in  this  .course  ?     "No,"  said  he,  "I  am 


80  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

resolved  by  and  by  to  reform,  grow  sober,  and  go  to  church. 
Why  I  am  but  five  and  twenty,  man ;  I  am  stout  aud 
healthy,  and  likely  to  live  long;  I  can  repent,  and  grow 
melancholy  and  good  at  any  time." 

"  Oh  Jack  !"  said  Stock,  "  don't  cheat  thyself  with  that 
false  hope.  What  thou  dost  intend  to  do,  do  quickly. 
Didst  thou  never  read  about  the  heart  ffrowinu  hardened 
by  long  indulgence  in  sin  ?  Some  folks,  who  pretend  to 
mean  well,  show  that  they  mean  nothing  at  all,  by  never 
beginning  to  put  their  good  resolutions  into  practice ;  which 
made  a  wise  man  once  say,  that  hell  is  paved  with  good  in- 
tentions. We  can  not  repent  when  we  please.  It  is  the 
goodness  of  God  which  leadeth  us  to  repentance." 

"  I  am  sure,"  replied  Jack,  "  I  am  no  one's  enemy  but 
my  own." 

"  It  is  as  foolish,"  said  Stock,  "  to  say  a  bad  man  is  no 
one's  enemy  but  his  own,  as  that  a  good  man  is  no  one's 
friend  but  his  own.  There  is  no  such  neutral  character.  A 
bad  man  corrupts  or  offends  all  within  reach  of  his  example, 
just  as  a  good  man  benefits  or  instructs  all  within  the 
sphere  of  his  influence.  And  there  is  no  time  when  we 
can  say  that  this  transmitted  good  and  evil  will  end.  A 
wicked  man  may  be  punished  for  sins  he  never  committed 
himself,  if  he  has  been  the  cause  of  sin  in  others,  as  surely 
as  a  saint  will  be  rewarded  for  more  good  deeds  than  he 
himself  has  done,  even  for  the  virtues  and  good  actions  of 
all  those  who  are  made  better  by  his  instruction,  his  exam- 
ple, or  his  writings." 

Michaelmas-day  was  at  hand.  The  landlord  declared  he 
would  be  put  off  no  longer,  but  would  seize  for  rent  if  it 
was  not  paid  him  on  that  day,  as  well  as  for  a  considerable  ■ 
sum  due  to  him  for  leather.  Brown  at  last  beiran  to  be 
frightened.  lie  applied  to  Stock  to  be  bound  for  him. 
This,  Stock  flatly  refused.     Brown  now  began  to  dread  the 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  81 

horrors  of  a  jail,  and  really  seemed  so  very  contrite,  and 
made  so  many  vows  and  promises  of  amendment,  that  at 
length  Stock  was  prevailed  on,  together  with  two  or  three 
of  Brown's  other  friends,  to  advance  each  .  a  small  sum  of 
money  to  quiet  the  landlord.  Brown  promising  to  make 
over  to  them  every  part  of  his  stock,  and  to  be  guided  in 
future  by  their  advice,  declaring  tbat  he  would  turn  over  a 
new  leaf,  and  follow  Mr.  Stock's  example,  as  well  as  his 
direction  in  every  thing. 

Stock's  good  nature  was  at  length  wrought  upon,  and  he 
raised  the  money.  The  truth  is,  he  did  not  know  the 
worst,  nor  how  deeply  Brown  was  involved.  Brown  joy- 
fully set  out  on  the  very  quarter-day  to  a  town  at  some 
distance,  to  carry  his  landlord  this  money,  raised  by  the 
imprudent  kindness  of  his  friend.  At  his  departure  Stock 
put  him  in  mind  of  the  old  story  of  Smiler  and  the  Merry 
Andrew,  and  he  promised  to  his  own  head  that  he  would 
not  even  call  at  a  public  house  till  he  had  paid  the  money. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  very  triumphantly 
passed  by  several.  He  stopped  a  little  under  the  window 
of  one  where  the  sounds  of  merriment  and  loud  laughter 
caught  his  ear.  At  another  he  heard  the  enticing  notes  of 
a  fiddle  and  the  light  heels  of  the  merry  dancers.  Here 
his  heart  had  well-nigh  failed  him,  but  the  dread  of  a  jail 
on  the  one  hand,  and  what  he  feared  almost  as  much, 
Mr.  Stock's  anger  on  the  other,  spurred  him  on  ;  and  he 
valued  himself  not  a  little  at  having  got  the  better  of  this 
temptation.  He  felt  quite  happy  when  he  found  he  had 
reached  the  door  of  his  landlord  without  having  yielded  to 
one  idle  inclination. 

He  knocked  at  the  door.  The  maid  who  opened  it  said 
her  master  was  not  at  home.  "  1.  am  sorry  for  it,"  said  he, 
strutting  about  :  and  with  a  boasting  air  he  took  cat  his 
money.     "  I  want  to  pay  him  my  rent :  he  needed  not  to 


82  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

have  been  afraid  of  me."  The  servant,  who  knew  her  mas- 
ter was  very  much  afraid  of  him,  desired  him  to  walk  in, 
for  her  master  would  be  at  home  in  half  an  hour.  "  I  will 
call  again,"  said  he ;  "  but  no,  let  him  call  on  me,  and  the 
sooner  the  better :  I  shall  be  at  the  Blue  Posts."  AVhile 
he  had  been  talking,  he  took  care  to  open  his  black  leather 
case,  and  to  display  the  bank  bills  to  the  servant,  and  then, 
in  a  swaggering  way,  he  put  up  bis  money  and  marched  off 
to  the  Blue  Posts. 

lie  was  by  this  time  quite  proud  of  his  own  resolution, 
and  having  tendered  the  money,  and  being  clear  in  his  own 
mind  that  it  was  tbe  landlord's  own  fault  and  not  his  that 
it  was  not  paid,  he  went  to  refresh  himself  at  the  Blue 
Posts.  In  a  barn  belonging  to  this  public  house  a  set  of 
strollers  were  just  going  to  perform  some  of  that  sing-song 
ribaldry,  by  winch  our  villages  are  corrupted,  the  laws 
broken,  and  that  money  drawn  from  the  poor  for  pleasure, 
which  is  wranted  by  their  families  for  bread.  The  name  of 
the  last  new  song  which  made  part  of  the  entertainment, 
made  him  think  himself  in  high  luck,  that  he  should  have 
just  that  half  hour  to  spare.  He  went  into  the  barn,  but 
was  too  much  delighted  with  the  actor,  who*  sung  his 
favorite  song,  to  remain  a  quiet  hearer.  He  leaped  out  of 
the  pit,  and  got  behind  the  two  ragged  blankets  wdiich 
served  for  a  curtain.  He  sumr  so  much  better  than  the 
actors  themselves,  that  they  praised  and  admired  him  to  a 
degree  which  awakened  all  his  vanity.  He  was  so  intoxi- 
cated with  their  flattery,  that  he  could  do  no  less  than  in- 
vite them  all  to  supper,  an  invitation  which  they  were  too 
hungry  not  to  accept. 

He  did  not,  however,  quite  forget  his  appointment  with 
his  landlord ;  but  the  half  hour  was  long  since  past  by 
"And  so,"  says  he,  "as  I  know  lie  is  a  mean  curmudgeon, 
who  goes  to  bed  by  daylight  to  save  candles,  it  will  be  too 


THE     TWO     SIIOEMAKEKS.  83 

late  to  speak  with  him  to-night ;  besides,  let  him  call  upon 
me  ;  it  is  his  business  and  not  mine.  I  left  word  where  I 
was  to  be  found ;  the  money  is  ready,  and  if  I  don't  pay 
him  to-night,  I  can  do  it  before  breakfast." 

By  the  time  these  firm  resolutions  were  made,  supper 
was  ready.  There  never  was  a  more  jolly  evening.  Ale 
and  punch  were  as  plenty  as  water.  The  actors  saw  what 
a  vain  fellow  was  feasting  them,  and  as  they  wanted  victuals 
and  he  wanted  flattery,  the  business  was  soon  settled.  They 
ate,  and  Brown  sung.  They  pretended  to  be  in  raptures. 
Singing  promoted  drinking,  and  every  fresh  glass  produced 
a  new  song  or  a  story  still  more  merry  than  the  former. 
Before  morning,  the  players,  who  were  engaged  to  act  in 
another  barn  a  dozen  miles  off,  stole  away  quietly.  Brown 
having  dropt  asleep,  they  left  him  to  finish  his  nap  by  him- 
self. As  to  him  his  dreams  were  gay  and  pleasant,  and  the 
house  being  quite  still,  he  slept  comfortably  till  morning. 

As  soon  as  he  had  breakfasted,  the  business  of  the  night 
before  popped  into  his  head.     He  set  off  once  more  to  his 
landlord's  in  high  spirits,  gayly  singing  by  (he  way,  scraps 
of  all  the  tunes  he  had  picked  up  the  night  before  from  his 
new  friends.     The  landlord  opened  the  door  himself,  and 
reproached  him  with  no  small  surliness  for  not  having  kept 
his  word  with  him  the  evening  before,  adding,  that  he  sup- 
posed he  was  come  now  with  some  more  of  his  shallow  ex- 
cuses.    Brown  put  on  all  that  haughtiness  which  is  com- 
mon to  people  who,  being  generally  apt  to  be  in  the  wrong, 
happen  to  catch  themselves  doingaright  action;  he  looked 
big,  as  some  sort  of  people  do  when  they  have  money  to  paj  . 
"  You  need  not  have  been  so  anxious  about  your  money," 
said  he,"]  was  not  going  to  break  or  run  away."     The 
landlord  well  knew  this  was  the  common  language  of  those 
who  are  ready  to  do  both.     Brown  haughtily  added,  "You 


84  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

shall  see  I  am  a  man  of  my  word ;  give  me  a  receipt." 
The  landlord  had  it  ready  and  gave  it  him. 

Brown  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  for  his  black  leathern 
case  in  which  the  bills  were ;  he  felt,  he  searched,  he  ex- 
amined, first  one  pocket,  then  the  other ;  then  both  waist- 
coat poekets,  but  no  leather  case  could  he  find.  He  looked 
terrified.  It  was  indeed  the  face  of  real  terror,  but  the 
landlord  conceived  it  to  be  that  of  guilt,  and  abused  him 
heartily  for  putting  his  old  tricks  upon  him  ;  he  swore  he 
would  not  be  imposed  upon  any  longer ;  the  money  or  a 
jail — there  lay  his  choice. 

Brown  protested  for  once  with  great  truth  that  he  had 
no  intention  to  deceive ;  declared  that  he  had  actually 
brought  the  money,  and  knew  not  what  was  become  of  it ; 
but  the  thing  was  far  too  unlikely  to  gain  credit.  Brown 
now  called  to  mind  that  he  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  settle 
in  the  room  where  they  had  supped.  This  raised  his 
spirits;  for  he  had  no  doubt  but  the  case  had  fallen  out  of 
his  pocket;  he  said  he  would  step  to  the  public  hoi: 
search  for  it,  and  would  be  back  directly.  Not  one  word 
of  this  did  the  landlord  believe,  so  inconvenient  is  it  to 
have  a  bad  character.  ITe  swore  Brown  should  not  stir  out 
of  his  house  without  a  constable,  and  made  him  wait  while 
he  sent  for  one.  Brown,  guarded  by  the  constable,  went 
back  to  the  Blue  Posts,  the  landlord  charging  the  officer 
not  to  lose  sight  of  the  culprit.  The  caution  was  needl 
Brown  had  not  the  least  design  of  running  away,  so  firmly 
persuaded  was  he  that  he  should  find  his  leather  c 

But  who  can  paint  his  dismay,  when  no  tale  or  tidings 
of  the  leather  ease  could  be  had  !  The  master,  the  mis- 
tress, the  boy,  the  maid  of  the  public  house,  all  protested 
they  were  innocent.  His  suspicions  soon  fell  on  the  strollers 
with  whom  he  had  passed  the  night  ;  and  lie  now  found 
out  for  the  first  time,  that  a  merry  evening  did  not  always' 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  83 

produce  a  happy  morning-.  He  obtained  a  warrant,  and 
proper  officers  were  sent  in  pursuit  of  the  strollers.  No 
one,  however,  believed  he  had  really  lost  any  thing ;  and 
as  he  had  not  a  shilling  left  to  defray  the  expensive  treat 
he  had  given,  the  master  of  the  inn  agreed  with  the  other 
landlord  in  thinking  this  story  was  a  trick  to  defraud  them 
both,  and  Brown  remained  in  close  custody.  At  length 
the  officers  returned,  who  said  they  had  been  obliged  to  let 
the  strollers  go,  as  they  could  not  fix  the  charge  on  any  one, 
and  they  had  offered  to  swear  before  a  justice  that  they  had 
seen  nothing  of  the  leather  case.  It  was  at  length  agreed 
that  as  he  had  passed  the  evening  in  a  crowded  barn,  he 
had  probably  been  robbed  there,  if  at  all ;  and  among  so 
many,  who  could  pretend  to  guess  at  the  thief  ? 

Brown  raved  like  a  madman ;  he  cried,  tore  bis  hair,  and 
said  he  was  ruined  for  ever.  The  abusive  language  of  his 
old  landlord,  and  his  new  creditor  at  the  Blue  Posts,  did 
not  lighten  his  sorrow.  His  landlord  would  be  put  off  no 
longer.  Brown  declared  he  could  neither  find  bail  nor  raise 
another  shilling::  and  as  soon  as  the  forms  of  law  were 
made  out,  he  was  sent  to  the  county  jail. 

Here  it  might  have  beeu  expected  that  hard  living  and 
much  leisure  would  have  brought  him  to  reflect  a  little  on 
his  past  follies.  But  his  heart  was  not  truly  touched.  The 
chief  thing  which  grieved  him  at  first  was  his  having 
abused  the  kindness  of  Stock,  lor  to  him  be  should  appear 
guilty  of  a  real  fraud,  where  indeed  he  had  been  only  vain, 
idle,  and  imprudent.  And  it  is  worth  while,  here  to  remark, 
(hat  vanity,  idleness,  an  1  imprudence,  often  bring  a  man  to 
utter  ruin  both  of  soul  and  body,  though  silly  people  do 
not  put  them  in  the  ealalogue  of  heavy  sins,  and  those  who 
indulge  in  them  are  often  reckoned  honest,  merry  fellows, 
with  the  best  hearts  in  the  world. 

I  wish  T  had  room  to  tell  my  rea  lers  whal  befell  Jack  in 


86  THE     TWO     RJIOEMAKER8. 

his  present  doleful  habitation,  and  what  became  of  him 
afterward.  I  promise  them,  however,  that  they  shall  cer- 
tainly know  the  first  of  next  month,  when  I  hope  they  will 
not  forget  to  inquire  for  the  fourth  part  of  the  Shoemakers, 
or  Jack  Brown  in  prison. 


PAKT   IV. 


JACK    BROWN    IN    PRISON. 


Brown  wan  no  sooner  lodged  in  his  doleful  habitation, 
and  a  little  recovered  from  his  first  surprise,  than  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  his  friend  Stock  the  whole  history  of  the 
transaction.  Mr.  Stock,  who  had  long  known  the  exceed- 
ing lightness  and  dissipation  of  his  mind,  did  not  so  utterly 
disbelieve  the  story  as  all  the  other  creditors  did.  To  speak 
the  truth,  Stock  was  the  only  one  among  them  who  had 
good  sense  enough  to  know,  that  a  man  may  be  completely 
ruined,  both  in  what  relates  to  his  property  and  his  soul, 
without  committing  Old  Bailey  crimes.  He  well  knew  that 
idleness,  vanity,  and  the  love  of  pleasure,  as  it  is  falsely 
called,  will  bring  ;i  man  to  a  morsel  of  bread,  as  surely  as 
those  things  which  are  reckoned  much  greater  sins,  and  that 
they  undermine  his  principles  as  certainly,  though  not  quite 
so  fast. 

Stock  was  too  angry  with  what  had  happened  to  answer 
Brown's  letter,  or  to  seem  to  take  the  least  notice  of  him. 
However,  he  kindly  and  secretly  undertook  a  journey  to  the 
hard-hearted  old  farmer,  Brown's  fit  her,  to  intercede  with 
him,  and  to  see  if  he  would  do  any  thing  for  his  son. 
Stock  did  not  pretend  to  excuse  Jack,  or  even  to  lessen  his 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  87 

offenses ;  for  it  was  a  rule  of  Lis  never  to  disguise  truth  or 
to  palliate  wickedness.  Sin  was  still  sin  in  his  eyes,  though 
it  were  committed  by  his  best  friend  ;  but  though  he  would 
not  soften  the  sin,  he  felt  tenderly  for  the  sinner.  He  ■ 
pleaded  with  the  old  farmer  on  the  ground  that  his  son's 
idleness  and  other  vices  would  gather  fresh  strength  in  a 
jail.  He  told  him  that  the  loose  and  worthless  company 
which  he  would  there  keep,  would  harden  him  in  vice, 
and  if  he  was  now  wicked,  he  might  there  become  irre- 
claimable. 

But  all  his  pleas  were  urged  in  vain.  The  fanner  was 
not  to  be  moved  ;  indeed  he  argued,  with  some  justice,  that 
he  ought  not  to  make  his  industrious  children  beggars  to 
save  one  rogue  from  the  gallows.  Mr.  Stock  allowed  the 
force  of  his  reasoning,  though  he  saw  the  father  was  less 
influenced  by  this  principle  of  justice  than  by  resentment 
on  account  of  the  old  story  of  Smiler.  People,  indeed, 
should  take  care  that  what.appears  in  their  conduct  to  pro- 
ceed from  justice,  does  not  really  proceed  from  revenge. 
Wiser  men  than  Farmer  Brown  often  deceive  themselves, 
and  fancy  they  act  on  better  principles  than  they  really  do, 
for  want  of  looking  a  little  more  closely  into  their  own 
hearts,  and  putting  down  every  action  to  its  true  motive. 
When  we  are  praying  against  deceit,  we  should  not  forget 
to  take  self-d< it  into  the  account. 

Mr.  Stock  at  length  wrote  to  poor  Jack  ;  not  to  offer  him 
any  help,  that  was  quite  out  of  the  question,  but  to  exhort 
him  to  repent  of  his  evil  ways;  to  lay  before  him  the  sins 
of  his  pasi  life,  and  to  advise  him  to  convert  the  present 
punishmenl  into  a  benefit,  by  humbling  himself  before  God. 
lie  offered  his  interest  to  get  his  place  of  confinement  ex- 
changed for  one  of  those  improved  prisons,  where  solitude 
and  labor  have  been  made  the  happy  instruments  of  bring- 
ing many  to  a  better  way  of  thinking,  and  ended   by  say- 


88  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

iug,  that  if  he  ever  gave  any  solid  signs  of  real  amend- 
ment he  would  still  be  his  friend,  in  spite  of  all  that  was 
past. 

If  Mr.  Stock  had  sent  him  a  good  sum  of  money  to  pro- 
cure his  liberty,  or  even  to  make  merry  with  his  wretched 
companions,  Jack  would  have  thought  him  a  friend  indeed. 
But  to  send  him  nothing  but  dry  advice,  and  a  few  words 
of  empty  comfort,  was,  he  thought,  but  a  cheap,  shabby  way 
of  showing  his  kindness.  Unluckily  the  letter  came  just 
as  he  was  going  to  sit  down  to  one  of  those  direful  merry - 
makino-s  which  are  often  carried  on  with  brutal  riot  within 
the  doleful  walls  of  a  jail  on  the  entrance  of  a  new  prisoner, 
who  is  often  expected  to  give  a  feast  to  the  rest. 

When  his  companions  were  heated  with  gin ;  "  Now,"  said 
Jack,  "I'll  treat  you  with  a  sermon,  and  a  very  pretty 
preachment  it  is."  So  saying,  he  took  out  Mr.  Stock's  kind 
and  pious  letter,  and  was  delighted  at  the  bursts  of  laughter 
it  produced.  "  What  a  canting  dig  !"  said  one.  "  Repent- 
ance, indeed !"  cried  Tom  Grew;  "  No,  no,  Jack,  tell  this 
hypocritical  rogue  that  if  we  have  lost  our  liberty,  it  is  only 
for  having  been  jolly,  hearty  fellows,  and  we  have  more 
spirit  than  to  repent  of  that  I  hope  :  all  the  harm  we  have 
done  is  living  a  little  too  fast,  like  honest  bucks  as  we  are." 
"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Jolly  George,  "  had  we  been  such  sneaking 
miserly  fellows  as  Stock,  we  need  not  have  come  hither. 
But  if  the  ill  nature  of  the  laws  has  been  so  cruel  a&  to  clap 
up  such  fine  hearty  blades,  we  are  no  felons,  however.  We 
are  afraid  of  no  Jack  Ketch;  and  I  see  no  cause  to  repent 
of  any  sin  that's  aot  hanging  matter.  As  to  those  who  are 
thrust  into  the  condemne  1  hole  in. Iced,  and  have  but  a  few 
hours  to  live,  they  must  see  the  parson,  and  hear  a  sermon, 
and  such  stuff.  But  I  do  not  know  what  such  stout  young 
fellows  as  we  are  have  to  do  with  repentance.  And  so, 
Jack,  let  us  have  that  rave  new  catch  which  you  learnt  of 


THE      1  W  O     SHOEMAKERS.  89 

the  strollers  that  merry  night  when  you  lost  your  pocket- 
book." 

This  thoughtless  youth  soon  gave  a  fresh  proof  of  the 
power  of  evil  company,  and  of  the  quick  progress  of  the 
heart  of  a  sinner  from  bad  to  worse.  Brown,  who  always 
wanted  principle,  soon  grew  to  want  feeling  also.  He  joined 
in  the  laugh  which  was  raised  against  Stock,  and  told  many 
good  stories,  as  they  were  called,  in  derision  of  the  piety, 
sobriety,  and  self-denial  of  his  old  friend.  He  lost  every  day 
somewhat  of  those  small  remains  of  shame  and  decency 
which' he  had  brought  with  him  to  the  prison.  He  even 
grew  reconciled  to  this  wretched  way  of  life,  and  the  Avant 
of  money  seemed  to  him  the  heaviest  evil  in  the  life  of 
a  jail. 

Mr.  Stock  finding  from  the  jailor  that  his  letter  had  been 
treated  with  ridicule,  would  not  write  to  him  any  more. 
He  did  not  come  to  see  him  nor  send  him  any  assistance, 
thinking-  it  right  to  let  him  sutler  that  want  which  his  vices 
had  brought  upon  him.  But  as  he  still  hoped  that  the  time 
would  come  when  he  might  be  brought  to  a  sense  of  his 
evil  courses,  he  continued  to  have  an  eye  upon  him  by 
means  of  the  jailor,  who  was  an  honest,  kind-hearted  man. 

Brown  spent  one  part  of  his  time  in  thoughtless  riot, 
and  the  other  in  gloomy  sadness.  Company  kept  up  his 
spirits  ;  with  his  new  friends  he  contrived  to  drown  thought ; 
but  when  he  was  alone  he  began  to  find  that  a  merry  fellow, 
when  deprived  of  his  companions  and  his  liquor;  is  often  a 
most  forlorn  wretch.  Then  it  is  I  hat  even  a  merry  fellow 
says,  Of  laughter,  what  is  it?  and  of  mirth,  it  is  madness. 

As  he  contrived,  however,  to  be  as  little  alone  as  possi- 

1  ble  his  gayety  was  commonly  uppermost  till  that  loathsome 

distemper,  called  the    jail   fever,   broke  out  in  the  prison. 

Tom  Crew,  the  ring-leader  in  all  their  evil  practices,  was 

first  seized  with  it.    Jack  staid  a  little  while  with  his  com- 


90  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

rade  to  assist  and  divert  liira,  but  of  assistance  he  could 
give  little,  and  the  veiy  thought  of  diversion  was  now  turned 
into  horror.  He  soon  caught  the  distemper,  and  that  in  so 
dreadful  a  degree,  that  his  life  was  in  great  danger.  Of 
those  who  remained  in  health  not  a  soul  came  near  him, 
though  he  shared  his  last  farthing  with  them.  He  had  just 
sense  enough  left  to  feel  this  cruelty.  Poor  fellow  !  he  did 
not  know  before,  that  the  friendship  of  the  worldly  is  at  an 
end  when  there  is  no  more  drink  or  diversion  to  bo  had. 
He  lay  in  the  most  deplorable  condition ;  his  body  tor- 
mented with  a  dreadful  disease,  and  his  soul  terrified  and 
amazed  at  the  approach  of  death  :  that  death  which  he 
thought  at  so  great  a  distance,  and  of  which  his  comrades 
had  so  ofted  assured  him,  that  a  young  fellow  of  five  and 
twenty  was  in  no  danger.  Poor  Jack!  I  can  not  help  feel- 
ing for  him  Without  a  shilling!  without  a  friend!  with- 
out one  comtor;  respecting  this  world,  and,  what  is  far  more 
terrible,  without  one  hope  respecting  the  next. 

Let  not  the  young  reader  fancy  that  Brown's  misery  arose 
entirely  from  his  altered  circumstances.  It  was  not  merely 
his  being  in  want,  and  sick,  and  in  prison,  which  made  his 
condition  so  desperate.  Many  an  honest  man  unjustly  ac- 
cused, many  a  persecuted  saint,  many  a  holy  martyr  b<y? 
enjoyed  sometimes  more  peace  and  content  in  a  prison  than 
wicked  men  have  ever  tasted  in  the  height  of  their  pros- 
perity. But  to  any  such  comforts,  to  any  comfort  at  all, 
poor  Jack  was  an  utter  stranger. 

A  Christian  friend  generally  comes  forward  at  the  very 
time  when  worldly  friends  forsake  the  wretched.  The  other 
prisoners  would  not  come  near  Brown,  though  he  had  often 
entertained,  and  had  never  offended  them;  even  his  own 
father  was  not  moved  with  his  sad  condition.  When  Mr. 
Stock  informed  him  of  it,  he  answered,  "  'Tis  no  more  than 
he  deserves.     As  he  brews  so  he  must  bake.     He  has  made 


THE     TWO     311  O  E  MAKERS.  91 

his  own  bed,  and  let  him  lie  in  it."  The  hard  old  man  had 
ever  at  his  tongue's  end  some  proverb  of  hardness,  or  fru- 
gality, which  he  contrived  to  turn  in  such  a  way  as  to  ex- 
cuse himself. 

We  shall  now  see  how  Mr.  Stock  behaved.  He  had  his 
favorite  savings  too  ;  but  they  were  chiefly  on  the  side  of 
kindness,  mercy,  or  some  other  virtue.  "  I  must  not,"  said 
he,  "  pretend  to  call  myself  a  Christian,  if  I  do  not  requite 
evil  with  good."  When  he  received  the  jailor's  letter  with 
the  account  of  Crown's  sad  condition,  Will  Simpson  and 
Tommy  Williams  began  to  compliment  him  on  his  own 
wisdom  and  prudence,  by  which  he  had  escaped  Brown's 
misfortunes.  He  only  gravely  said,  "  Blessed  be  God  that  I 
am  not  in  the  same  misery.  It  is  He  who  has  ma  le  us  to 
diti'er.  But  for  his  grace  I  might  have  been  in  no  better 
condition.  Now  Brown  is  brought  low  by  the  hand  of 
God,  it  ismy  time  to  go  to  him."  "What,  you !"  said  Will, 
"  whom  he  cheated  of  your  money  ?"  "  This  is  not  a  time 
to  remember  injuries,"  said  Mr.  Stock.  "How  can  I  ask 
forgiveness  of  my  own  sins,  if  I  withhold  forgiveness  from 
him  ?"  So  saying,  he  ordered  his  horse;  and  set  oft*  to  see 
poor  Brown;  thus  proving  that  his  was  a  religion  not  of 
words,  but  of  deeds. 

Stock's  heart  nearly  failed  him  as  he  passed  through  the 
prison.  The  groans  of  the  sick  and  dying,  and,  what  to 
such  a  heart  as  his  was  still  more  moving,  the  brutal  merri- 
ment of  the  healthy  in  such  a  place,  pierced  his  very  soul. 
Many  a  silent  prayer  did  he  put  up  as  he  passed  along,  that 
God  would  yet  be  pleased  to  touch  their  hearts,  and  thai 
now  (during  th  ckn  iss)  might  he  the  accepted 

time.  The  jailor  observed  him  drop  a  tear,  and  asked  the 
cause.  "1  can  nol  forget,"  said  he,  "that,  the  most  dissolute 
of  these  men  is  still  my  fellow  creature.  The  same  God 
made  them  ;  the  same  Saviour  died    for  them;  how  then 


92  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

can  I  hate  the  worst  of  them?  With  my  advantages  they 
might  have  been  much  better  than  I  am  ;  without  the  bless- 
ing of  God  on  my  good  minister's  instructions,  I  might  have 
been  worse  than  the  worst  of  these.  I  have  no  cause  for 
pride,  much  for  thankfulness  ;  '  Let  us  not  be  high-minded, 
but  fear?  " 

It  Avould  have  moved  a  heart  of  stone  to  have  seen  poor 
miserable  Jack  Brown  lying  on  his  wretched  bed,  his  face 
so  changed  by  pain,  poverty,  dirt,  and  sorrow,  that  he  could 
hardly  be  known  for  that  merry  soul  of  a  jack-boot,  as  he 
used  to  be  proud  to  hear  himself  called.  His  groans  were 
so  piteous  that  it  made  Mr.  Stock's  heart  ache.  He  kindly 
took  him  by  the  hand,  though  he  knew  the  distemper  was 
catching.  "  IIow  dost  do,  .Jack  ?"  said  he,  "  dost  know  me  ?" 
Brown  shook  his  head  and  said,  "  Know  you  ?  ay,  that  I  do. 
1  am  sure  I  have  but  one  friend  in  the  world  who  would 
come  to  see  me  in  this  woeful  condition.  O,  James  !  what 
have  I  brought  myself  to  ?  What  will  become  of  my  poor 
soul  ?  I  dare  not  look  back,  for  that  is  all  sin  ;  nor  forward, 
for  that  is  all  misery  and  woe." 

Mr.  Stock  spoke  kindly  to  him,  but  did  not  attempt  to 
cheer  him  with  false  comfort,  as  is  too  often  done.  "  I  am 
ashamed  to  see  you  in  this  dirty  place,"  says  Brown.  "  As 
to  the  place,  Jack,"  replied  the  other,  "  if  it  has  helped  to 
bring  you  to  a  sense  of  your  past  offenses,  it  will  be  no  bad 
place  for  you.  I  am  heartily  sorry  for  your  distress  and 
your  sickness  ;  but  if  it  should  please  God  by  them  to  open 
your  eyes,  and  to  show  you  that  sin  is  a  greater  evil  than 
the  prison  to  which  it  has  brought  you,  all  may  yet  be  well. 
T  had  rather  see  you  in  this  humble  penitent  state,  lying  on 
this  dirty  bed,  in  this  dismal  prison,  than  roaring  and  riot- 
ing at  the  Grayhound,  the  king  of  the  company,  with  hand- 
some clothes  on  your  back,  and  plenty  of  money  in  your 
pocket." 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  98 

Brown  wept  bitterly,  and  squeezed  bis  hand,  but  was  too 
weak  to  say  much.  Mr.  Stock  theu  desired  the  jailor  to  let 
hirn  have  such  things  as  were  needful,  and  he  would  pay 
for  them.  He  would  not  leave  the  poor  fellow  till  he  had 
given  him,  with  his  own  hands,  some  broth  which  the  jailor 
got  ready  for  him,  and  some  medicines  which  the  doctor 
had  sent.  All  this  kinduess  cut  Brown  to  the  heart.  lie 
was  just  able  to  sob  out, "  My  unnatural  father  leaves  me  to 
perish,  and  my  injured  friend  is  more  than  a  father  to  me." 
Stock  told  him  that  one  proof  he  must  give  of  his  repent- 
ance, was,  that  he  must  forgive  hi*  father,  whose  provoca- 
tion had  been  very  great.  He  then  said  he  would  leave  him 
for  the  present  to  take  some  rest,  and  desired  him  to  lift  up 
his  heart  to  God  for  mercy.  "  Dear  James,"  replied  Brown, 
"  do  you  pray  for  me ;  God  perhaps  may  hear  you,  but  he 
will  never  hear  the  prayer  of  such  a  sinner  as  I  have  been." 
"  Take  care  how  you  think  so,"  said  Stock.  "  To  believe 
that  God  can  not  forgive  you  Would  be  still  a  greater  sin 
than  any  you  have  yet  committed  against  him."  He  then 
explained  to  him  in  a  few  words,  as  well  as  he  was  able,  the 
nature  of  repentance  and  forgiveness  through  a  Saviour,  and 
warned  him  earnestly  against  unbelief  and  hardness  of  heart. 

Poor  Jack  grew  much  refreshed  in  body  with  the  com- 
fortable things  he  had  taken  ;  and  a  little  cheered  with 
Stock's  kindness  in  coming  so  far  to  see  and  to  forgive  such 
a  forlorn  outcast,  sick  of  an  infectious  distemper,  and  .locked 
within  the  walls  of  a  prison. 

Surely,  said  he  to  himself,  there  must  be  some  mighty 
power  in  a  religion  which  can  lead  men  to  do  such  things  ! 
things  so  much  against  the  grain  ;is  (o  forgive  such  an  in- 
jury, and  to  risk  catching  such  a  distemper  ;  but  he  wasso 
weak  he  could  not  express  this  in  words.  He  tried  to  pray, 
but  he  could  not;  at  length  overpowered  with  wearim 
he  fell  asleep. 


94  THE     TWO    SHOEMAKERS. 

When  Mr.  Stock  came  back,  he  was  surprised  to  find  him 
so  much  better  in  body  ;  but  his  agonies  of  mind  were 
dreadful,  and  he  had  now  got  strength  to  express  part  of 
the  horrors  which  he  felt.  "  James,"  said  he  (looking  wild- 
ly) "  it  is  all  over  with  me.  I  am  a  lost  creature.  Even 
your  prayers  can  not  save  me."  "  Dear  Jack,"  replied  Mr. 
Stock,  "  I  am  no  minister  ;  it  does  not  become  me  to  talk 
much  to  thee :  but  I  know  I  may  adventure  to  say  what- 
ever is  in  the  Bible.  As  ignorant  as  I  am  I  shall  be  safe 
while  I  stick  to  that."  "  Ay,"  said  the  sick  man,  "  you 
used  to  be  ready  enough  to  read  to  me,  and  I  would  not 
listen,  .or  if  I  did  it  was  only  to  make  fun  of  what  I  heard, 
and  now  you  will  not  so  much  as  read  a  bit  of  a  chapter  to 
me." 

This  was  the  very  point  to  which  Stock  longed  to  bring  him. 
So  he  took  a  little  Bible  out  of  his  pocket,  which  he  always 
carried  with  him  on  a  journey,  and  read  slowly,  verse  by  verse, 
the  fifty-fifth  chapter  of  Isaiah.  When  lie  came  to  the  sixth 
and  seventh  verses,  poor  Jack  cried  so  much  that  Stock  was 
forced  to  stop.  The  words  were,  Let  the  wicked  man  for- 
sake his  way,  and  the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts,  and  let 
him  return  unto  the  Lord.  Here  Brown  stopped  him,  say- 
ing, "  Oh,  it  is  too  late,  too  late  for  me."  "Let  me  finish 
the  verse,"  said  Stock,  "  and  you  will  see  your  error  ;  you 
w ill  see  that  it  is  never  too  late."  So  he  real  on — Let  him 
im  unto  the  Lord,  and  he  tvill  have  mere;/  upon  him, 
and  to  our  God,  and  he  will  abundantly  pardon.  Here 
Brown  started  up,  snatched  the  book  out  of  his  hand,  and 
cried  out,  "Is  that  really  there  ?  No,  no;  that's  of  your 
own  putting  in,  in  order  to  comfort  me;  let  me  look  at  the 
words  myself."  "No,  indeed,"  said  Stock,  "Iwould  notfoi 
the  world  give  you  unfounded  comfort,  or  put  oil'  any  no- 
tion of  my  own  for  a  Scripture  doctrine."  "But  is  it  po 
eible,"  cried  the  sick  man,  "  that  God  may  really  pardon 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  95 

me?  Dost  think  he  can?  Dost  think  lie  will?"  "1  dare 
not  give  thee  false  hopes,  or  indeed  any  hopes  of  my  own. 
But  these  are  God's  own  words,  and  the  only  difficulty  is  to 
know  when  we  are  really  brought  into  such  a  state  as  that 
the  words  may  be  applied  to  us.  For  a  text  may  be  full  of 
comfort,  and  yet  may  not  belong  to  us." 

Mr.  Stock  was  afraid  of  saying  more.  He  would  not 
venture  out  of  his  depth  ;  nor  indeed  was  poor  Brown  able 
to  bear  more  discourse  just  now.  So  he  made  him  a  present 
of  the  Bible,  folding  down  such  places  as  he  thought  might 
be  best  suited  to  his  state,  ami  took  his  leave,  being  obliged 
to  return  home  that  night.  He  left  a  little  money  with  the 
jailor,  to  add  a  few  comforts  to  the  allowance  of  the  prison, 
and  promised  to  return  in  a  short  time. 

When  he  got  home,  he  described  the  sufferings  and 
misery  of  Brown  in  a  very  moving  manner ;  but  Tommy 
Williams,  instead  of  being  properly  affected  by  it,  only 
said,  "  Indeed,  master,  I  am  not  very  sorry ;  he  is  rightly 
served."  "How,  Tommy,"  said  Mr.  Stock  (rather  sternly), 
"not  sorry  to  see  a  fellow  creat lire  brought  to  the  lowi 
state  of  misery ;  one  too  whom  you  have  known  so  pros- 
perous?" "No,  master,  I  can't  say  I  am;  for  Mr.  Brown 
used  to  make  fun  of  you,  and  laugh  at  you  for  being  so 
godly,  and  reading  your  Bible." 

"Let  me  say  a  few  words  to  you,  Tommy,"  said  Mr.  Stock. 
"In  the  first  place  you  should  never  watch  for  the  time  of 
a  man's  being  brought  low  by  trouble  to  tell  of  his  faults. 
Next,  you  should  never  rejoice  ai  his  trouble,  but  pity  him, 
and  pray  for  him.  Lastly,  as  to  liis  ridiculing  me  for  my 
religion,  if  I  can  not  stand  an  idle  jest,  I  am  not  worthy 
the  name  of  a  Christian.  //■  that  is  its/;,'///'/  of  me  "ml 
my  word — dost  remember  whal  follows,  Tommy?"  "  ^ 
master,  it  was  last  Sunday's  texl — -of  him  shall  the  Son  <>j 
Man  be  ashamed  when  he  shall  judge  the  world" 


96  TH  E     TWO     SH  O  E  MAKERS. 

Mr.  Stock  soon  went  back  to  the  prison.  But  lie  did  not 
go  alone.  He«took  with  him  Mr.  Thomas,  the  worthy 
minister  who  had  been  the  guide  and  instructor  of  his 
youth,  who  was  so  kind  as  to  go  at  his  request  and  visit 
this  forlorn  prisoner.  When  they  got  to  Brown's  door,  they 
found  him  sitting  up  in  his  bed  with  the  Bible  in  his  hand. 
This  was  a  joyful  sight  to  Mr.  Stock,  who  secretly  thanked 
God  for  it.  Brown  was  reading  aloud ;  they  listened ;  it 
was  the  fifteenth  of  St.  Luke.  The  circumstances  of  this 
beautiful  parable  of  the  prodigal  son  were  so  much  like  his 
own,  that  the  story  pierced  him  to  the  soul :  and  he  stopped 
every  minute  to  compare  his  own  case  with  that  of  the 
prodigal.  He  was  just  got  to  the  eighteenth  verse,  /  will 
arise  and  go  to  my  father — at  that  moment  he  spied  his 
two  friends ;  joy  darted  into  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  dear  Jem," 
said  he,  "  it  is  not  too  late,  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  Father, 
my  heavenly  Father,  and  you,  sir,  will  show  me  the  way, 
won't  you  ?"  said  he  to  Mr.  Thomas,  whom  he  recollected. 
"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  in  so  hopeful  a  disposition," 
said  the  good  minister.  "Oh,  sir,"  said  Brown,  "what  a 
place  is  this  to  receive  you  in  ?  Oh,  see  to  what  I  have 
brought  myself !" 

"  Your  condition,  as  to  this  world,  is  indeed  very  low," 
replied  the  good  divine.  "  But  what  are  mines,  dungeons, 
or  galleys,  to  that  eternal  hopeless  prison  to  winch  your  un- 
repealed sins  must  soon  have  consigned  you  ?  Even  in  the 
gloomy  prison,  on  this  bed  of  straw,  worn  down  by  pain, 
poverty,  and  want,  forsaken  by  your  worldly  friends,  an  ob- 
ject of  scorn  to  those  with  whom  you  used  to  carouse  and 
riot;  yet  here,  I  say,  brought  thus  low,  if  you  have  at  last 
found  out  your  own  vileness,  and  your  utterly  undone  state 
by  sin,  you  may  still  be  more  an  object  of  favor  in  the  sighl 
of  God,  than  when  you  thought  yourself  prosperous  and 
happy ;  when  the  world  smiled  upon  you,  and  you  passed 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  97 

your  days  and  nights  in  envied  gayety  and  unchristian  riot. 
If  you  will  but  improve  the  present  awful  visitation ;  if  you 
do  but  heartily  renounce  and  abhor  your  present  evil 
courses ;  if  you  even  now  turn  to  the  Lord  your  Saviour 
with  lively  faith,  deep  repentance,  and  unfeigned  obedience, 
I  shall  still  have  more  hope  of  you  than  of  many  who  are 
going  Cjii  quite  happy,  because  quite  insensible.  The  heavy 
laden  sinner,  who  has  discovered  the  iniquity  of  his  own 
heart,  and  his  utter  inability  to  help  himself,  may  be  re- 
stored to  God's  favor,  and  become  happy,  though  in  a  dun- 
geon. And  be  assured,  that  he  who  from  de-ep  and  humble 
contrition  dares  not  so  much  as  lift  up  his  eyes  to  heaven, 
when  with  a  hearty  faith  he  sighs  out,  Lord,  be  merciful  to 
me  a  sinner,  shall  in  no  wise  be  cast  out.  These  are  the 
words  of  him  who  can  not  lie." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  self-abasement,  the  grief, 
the  joy,  the  shame,  the  hope,  and  the  fear  which  filled  the 
mind  of  this  poor  man.  A  dawn  of  comfort  at  length 
shone  on  his  benighted  mind.  His  humility  and  fear  of 
falling  back  into  his  former  sins,  if  he  should  ever  recover, 
Mr.  Thomas  thought  were  strong  symptoms  of  a  sound  re- 
pentance. He  improved  and  cherished  every  good  disposi- 
tion he  saw  arising  in  his  heart,  and  particularly  warned 
him  against  self-deceit,  self-confidence,  and  hypocrisy. 

After  Biown  had  deeply  expressed  his  sorrow  for  his  of- 
fenses, Mr.  Thomas  thus  addressed  him.  "There  are  two 
ways  of  being  sorrj  for  siu.  Are  you,  Mr.  Brown,  afraid 
of  the  guill  of  sin  becau  of  the  punishment  annexed  to 
it,  or  are  you  afraid  of  sin  itself 3  l>o  you  wish  to  be  de- 
livered from  the  power  of  sin?  Do  you  hate  sin  because 
you  know  11  is  offensive  to  a  pure  and  holy  God  \  Or  are 
you  only  ashamed  of  it  because  it  has  brought  you  to  a 
prison  and  exposed  you  to  the  contempt  of  the  world?  It 
is  not  said  that  the  wages  of  this  or  that  particular  sin  is 


98  TUE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

death,  but  of  sin  in  general ;  there  is  no  exception  made 
because  it  is  a  more  creditable  or  a  favorite  sin,  or  because 
it  is  a  little  one.  There  are,  I  repeat,  two  ways  of  being 
sorry  for  sin.  Cain  was  sorry — My  punishment  is  greater 
than  I  can  bear,  said  he  ;  but  here  you  see  the  punishment 
seemed  to  be  the  cause  of  concern,  not  the  sin.  David 
seems  to  have  had  a  good  notion  of  godly  sorrow,  when  he 
says,  Wash  me  from  mine  iniquity,  cleanse  me  from  my  sin. 
And  when  Job  repented  in  dust  and  ashes,  it  is  not  said  he 
excused  himself,  but  he  abhorred  himself.  And  the  prophet 
Isaiah  called  himself  undone,  because  he  was  a  man  of  un- 
clean lips ;  for,  said  he  'I  have  seen  the  King,  the  Lord  of 
hosts ;'  that  is,  he  could  not  take  the  proper  measure  of 
his  own  iniquity  till  he  had  considered  the  perfect  holiness 
of  Goth" 

One  day,  when  Mr.  Thomas  and  Mr.  Stock  came  to  see 
him,  they  found  him  more  than  commonly  affected.  His 
face  was  more  ghastly  pale  than  usual,  and  his  eyes  were 
red  with  crying.  "  Oh,  sir,"  said  he,  "  Avhat  a  sight  have  ] 
just  seen!  Jolly  George,  as  we  used  to  call  him,  the  ring- 
leader of  all  our  mirth,  who  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  the 
fun,  and  tricks,  and  wickedness  that  are  carried  on  within 
these  walls,  Jolly  George  is  just  dead  of  the  jail  distemper! 
He  taken,  and  I  left!  I  would,  be  carried  into  his  room  to 
speak  to  him,  to  beg  him  to  take  warning  by  me,  and  that 
I  might  take  warning  by  him.  But  what  did  I  see  !  what 
did  I  hear  !  not  one  sign  of  repentance  ;  not  one  dawn  of 
hope.  Agony  of  body,  blasphemies  on  his  tongue,  despair 
in  his  soul ;  while  1  am  spared  and  comforted  with  hopes 
of  mercj  and  ace  <  >h,  if  all  my  <<M  friends  at  the 

Grayhound  could  but  then  have  seen  Jolly  George  !  A 
hundred  sermons  about,  death, sir, clon'l  speak  s.>  home,  an. I 
cut  so  deep,  as  the  sight  of  one  dying  sinner." 

Brown  grew  gradually  better  in  his  health,  that  is,  the 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  99 

fever  mended,  but  the  distemper  settled  ou  his  limbs,  so 
that  he  seemed  likely  to  be  a  poor,  weakly  cripple  the  rest 
of  his  life.  But  as  he  spent  much  of  his  time  in  prayer, 
and  in  reading  such  parts  of  the  Bible  as  Mr.  Thomas 
directed,  he  improved  every  day  in  knowledge  and  piety, 
and  of  course  grew  more  resigned  to  pain  and  infirmity. 

Some  months  after  this,  the  hard-hearted  father,  who  had 
never  been  prevailed  upon  to  see  him,  or  offer  him  the  least 
relief,  was  taken  off  suddenly  by  a  fit  of  apoplexy ;  and, 
after  all  his  threatenings,  he  died  without  a  will.  He  was 
one  of  those  silly,  superstitious  men,  who  fancy  they  shall 
die  the  sooner  for  having  made  one  ;  and  who  love  the 
world  and  the  things  that  are  in  the  woald  so  dearly,  that 
they  dread  to  set  about  any  business  which  may  put  them 
in  mind  that  they  are  not  always  to  live  in  it.  As,  by  this 
neglect,  his  father  had  not  fulfilled  his  threat  of  cutting  him 
off  with  a  shilling,  Jack,  of  course,  went  shares  with  his 
brothers  in  what  their  father  left.  What  fell  to  him  proved 
to  be  just  enough  to  discharge  him  from  prison,  and  to  pay 
all  his  debts,  but  he  had  nothing  left.  ITis  joy  at  being 
thus  enabled  to  make  restitution  was  so  great  that  he 
thought  little  of  his  own  wants.  He  did  not  desire  to 
conceal  the  most  trifling  debt,  nor  to  keep  a  shilling  for 
himself. 

Mr.  Stock  undertook  to  settle  all  his  affairs.  There  did 
not  remain  money  enough  after  every  creditor  was  satisfied, 
even  to  pay  for  bis  removal  borne.  Mr.  Stock  kindly 
sent  his  own  carl  for  him  with  a  bed  in  it,  made  as  com- 
fortable as  possible,  for  he  \  weak  and  lame  to  be  re- 
moved any  other  way,  and  Mis.  Stock  gave  the  driver 
particular  charge  to  be  tender  and  careful  of  bim,  and  uot 
to  drive  bard,  aor  to  leave  the  car!  a  moment. 

Mr.  Stock  would  fain  have  taken  him  into  his  own  house, 
at  least  for  a  time,  so  convinced  was  he  of  the  smcere  ref- 


100  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

ormation  both  of  heart  and  life  ;  but  Brown  would  not  be 
prevailed  on  to  be  further  burdensome  to  this  generous 
friend.  He  insisted  on  being  carried  to  the  parish  work- 
house, which  he  said  was  a  far  better  place  than  he  de- 
served. In  this  house  Mr.  Stock  furnished  a  small  room 
for  him,  and  sent  him  every  day  a  morsel  of  meat  from  his 
own  dinner.  Tommy  Williams  begged  that  he  might  al- 
ways be  allowed  to  carry  it,  as  some  atonement  for  his 
having  for  a  moment  so  far  forgotten  his  duty,  as  rather  to 
rejoice  than  sympathize  in  Brown's  misfortunes.  He  never 
thought  of  the  fault  without  sorrow,  and  often  thanked  his 
master  for  the  wholesome  lesson  he  then  gave  him,  and  he 
was  the  better  for  it  all  his  life. 

Mrs.  Stock  often  carried  poor  Brown  a  dish  of  tea,  or  a 
basin  of  good  broth  herself.  He  was  quite  a  cripple,  and 
never  able  to  walk  out  as  long  as  he  lived.  Mr.  Stock,  Will 
Simpson,  and  Tommy  Williams  laid  their  heads  together, 
and  contrived  a  sort  of  barrow  on  which  he  was  often  car- 
ried to  church  by  some  of  his  poor  neighbors,  of  which 
Tommy  was  always  one ;  and  he  requited  their  kindness, 
by  reading  a  good  book  to  them  whenever  they  would  call 
in ;  and  he  spent  his  time  in  teaching  their  children  to  sing 
psalms  or  say  the  catechism. 

It  was  no  small  joy  to  him  thus  to  be  enabled  to  go  to 
church.  Whenever  he  was  carried  by  the  Grayhound,  he 
was  much  moved,  and  used  to  put  up  a  prayer  full  of  re- 
pentance for  the  past,  and  praise  for  the  present. 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  101 


PART    V. 

A  DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  JAMES  STOCK  AND  WILL  SIMPSON, 
THE  SHOEMAKERS,  AS  THEY  SAT  AT  WORK,  ON  THE  DUTY 
OF    CARRYING    RELIGION    INTO    OUR    COMMON    BUSINESS. 

James  Stock,  and  his  journeyman  Will  Simpson,  as  I 
informed  my  readers  in   the.  second  part,  had  resolved  to 
work  together  one  hour  every  evening-,  in  order  to  pay  for 
Tommy  Williams's  schooling.     This  circumstance  brought 
them  to  he  a  good  deal  together  when  the  rest  of  the  men 
were  gone  home.     Now  it  happened  that  Mr.  Stock  had  a 
pleasant  way  of  endeavoring  to  turn  all  common  events  to 
some  use  ;  and  he  thought  it  right  on  the  present  occasion 
to  make  the  only  return  in  his  power  to  Will  Simpson  for 
his  great  kindness.     For,  sajd  he,  if  Will  gives  up  so  miu-h 
of  his  time  to  help  to  provide  for  this  poor  boy,  it  is  the 
least  I  can  do  to  try  to  turn  part  of  that  time  to  the  pur- 
pose of  promoting  Will's  spiritual  good.     Now  as  the  bent 
of  Stock's  own  mind  was  religion,  it  was  easy  to  him  to  lead 
their  talk  to  something  profitable,     lie  always  took  especial 
care,  however,  that  the  subject  should  be  introduced  prop- 
erly, cheerfully,  and  without  constraint.     As  he  well  knew 
that  great  good  may  be  sometimes  done  by  a  prudent  at 
tention  in  seizing  proper  opportunities,  so  he  knew  that  the 
cause  of  piety  had  been  sometimes  hurt  by  forcing  serious 
subjects  where  there  was  clearly  no  disposition  to  receive 
them.     I  say  he  had  found  out  that  two  things  were  neces- 
sary to  the  promoting  of  religion  among  his  friends  ;  a  warm 
zeal  to  be  always  on  the  watch  for  occasions,  and  a  cool 
judgment  (o  distinguish  which  was  the  right  time  and  place 
to  make  use  of-  them.     To  know  hoio  to  do  good  is  a  great 
matter,  but  to  know  ichen  to  do  it  is  no  small  one. 


102  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

Simpson  was  an  honest,  good-natured,  young  man;  be 
was  now  become  sober,  and  rather  religiously  disposed. 
But.  be  was  ignorant ;  be  did  not  know  much  of  the  grounds 
of  religion,  or  of  tbe  corruption  of  bis  own  nature.  He  was 
regular  at  church,  but  was  first  drawn  thither  rather  by  bis 
skill  in  psalm-singing  than  by  any  great  devotion.  He  bad 
left  off  going  to  tbe  Graybound,  and  often  read  the  Bible, 
or  some  other  good  book  on  tbe  Sunday  evening.  This  he 
thought  was  quite  enough;  bethought  the  Bible  was  the 
prettiest  history  book  in  the  wTorld,  and  that  religion  was  a 
very  good  thing  for  Sundays.  But  he  did  not  much  under- 
stand what  business  people  bad  with  it  on  working  days. 
He  bad  left  off  drinking  because  it  had  brought  Williams  to 
the  grave,  and  his  wife  to  dirt  and  rags ;  but  not  because 
he  himself  had  seen  the  evil  of  sin.  He  now  considered 
swearing:  and  Sabbath-breaking  as  scandalous  and  indecent, 
but  he  had  not  found  out  that  both  were  to  be  left  off 
because  they  are  highly  offensive  to  God,  and  grieve  his 
Holy  Spirit.  As  Simpson  was  less  self-couceited  than  most 
ignorant  pe  pie  are,  Stock  had  always  a  good  hope  that 
when  he  sho.-Id  come  to  be  better  acquainted  with  the  word 
of  God,  and  v. '  h  the  evil  of  his  own  heart,  he  would  become 
one  day  a  good  Christian.  The  great  hinderance  to  this  was, 
that  he  fancied  '  imself  so  already. 

One  evening  Simpson  had  been  calling  to  Stock's  mind 
how  disorderly  the  house  and  shop,  where  they  were  now 
sitting  quietly  at  work,  had  formerly  been,  and  he  went  on 
thus : 

Will.  How  comfortably  we  live  now,  master,  to  what  we 
used  to  do  in  Williams's  time !  I  used  then  never  to  be 
happy  but  when  we  were  keeping  it  up  all  night,  hut  now 
T  am  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long.  I  find  I  am  twice  as 
happy  since  I  am  grown  good  and  sob'  r. 

Stock.  I  am  glad  you  are  happy,  Will,  and  I  rejoice  that 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  103 

you  are  sober;  but  I  would  not  have  you  take  too  much 
pride  in  your  own  goodness,  for  fear  it  should  become  a  sin, 
almost  as  great  as  some  of  those  you  have  left  off.  Besides, 
I  would  not  have  you  make  quite  so  sure  that  you  are 
good. 

Will.  Not  good,  master !  Why,  don't  you  find  me  regular 
and  orderly  at  work  ? 

Stock.  Very  much  so;  and  accordingly  I  have  a  great, 
respect  for  you. 

Will.  I  pay  every  one  his  own,  seldom  miss  church,  have 
not  been  drunk  since  Williams  died,  have  handsome  clothes 
for  Sundays,  and*save  a  trine  every  week. 

Stock.  Very  true,  and  very  laudable  it  is ;  and  to  all  this 
you  may  add  that  you  very  generously  work  an  hour  for 
poor  Tommy's  education,  every  evening  without  fee  or  re- 
ward. 

Will.  Well,  master,  what  can  a  man  do  more  ?  If  all 
tins  is  not  being  good,  I  don't  know  what  is. 

Stock.  All  these  things  are  very  right,  as  far  as  they  go, 
and  you  could  not  well  be  a  Christian  without  doing  them. 
But  I  shall  make  you  stare,  perhaps,  when  I  tell  you,  you 
may  do  all  these  things,  and  many  more,  and  yet  be  no 
Christian. 

Will.  No  Christian  !  Surely,  master,  I  do  hope  that  after 
all  I  have  done,  you  will  not  be  so  unkind  as  to  say  I  am  no 
Christian  3 

Stock.  God  forbid  that  I  should  say  so,  Will.  I  hope 
better  things  of  you.  But  come  now,  what  do  you  think  it 
is  to  be  a  Chi 

Will.  What!  why  to  he  christened  when  one  is  a  child; 
to  learn  the  catechism  when  one  can  read;  1m  be  con- 
firmed when  one  is  a  youth;  and  to  go  to  church  when  one 
is  a  man. 

Stock.  These  are  all  very  proper  things,  and  quite  neces- 


104* 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS, 


sary.  They  make  part  of  a  Christian's  life.  But  for  all  that, 
;>  man  may  be  exact  in  them  all,  and  yet  not  be  a  Christian. 

Will.  Not  be  a  Christian !  ha !  ha !  ha !  you  are  very 
comical,  master. 

Stock.  No,  indeed,  I  am  very  serious,  Will.  At  this  rate 
it  would  be  a  very  easy  thing  to  be  a  Christian,  and  every 
man  who  went  through  certain  forms  would  be  a  good  man; 
and  one  man  who  observed  those  forms  would  be  as  good 
as  another.  Whereas,  if  we  come  to  examine  ourselves  by 
the  word  of  God,  I  am  afraid  there  are  but  few  compara- 
tively whom  our  Saviour  would  allow  to  be  real  Christians. 
What  is  your  notion  of  a  Christian's  practice  ? 

Will.  Why,  he  must  not  rob,  nor  murder,  nor  get  drunk. 
He  must  avoid  scandalous  things,  and  do  as  other  decent 
orderly  people  do. 

Stock.  It  is  easy  enough  to  be  what  the  world  calls  a 
Christian,  but  not  to  be  what  the  Bible  calls  so. 

Will.  Why,  master,  we  working  men  are  not  expected  to 
be  saints,  and  martyrs,  and  apostles,  and  ministers. 

Stock.  We  are  not.  And  yet,  AVill,  there  are  not  two 
sorts  of  Christianity;  we  are  called  to  practice  the  same 
religion  which  they  practiced,  and  something  of  the  same 
spirit  is  expected  in  us  which  we  reverence  in  them.  It  was 
not  saints  and  martyrs  only  to  whom  our  Saviour  said  that 
they  must  crucify  the  world,  with  its  affections  and  lusts. 
We  are  called  to  be  holy  in  our  measure  and  degree,  as  he 
who  hath  called  us  is  holy.  It  was  not  only  saints  and 
martyrs  who  were  told  that  they  must  be  like-minded  with 
Christ.  That  they  must  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God.  That 
they  must  renounce  the  spirit  of  the  world,  and  deny  them- 
selves. It  was  not  to  apostles  only  that  Christ  said,  They 
must  have  their  conversation  in  heaven.  It  was  not  to  a 
few  holy  men,  set  apart  for  the  altar,  that  he  said,  They 
must  set  their  affections  on  things  above.     That  they  must 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  105 

not  be  conformed  to  the  world.  No,  it  was  to  fishermen,  to 
publicans,  to  farmers,  to  day-laborers,  to  poor  tradesmen, 
that  he  spoke  when  he  told  them,  they  must  love  not  the 
world  nor  the  things  of  the  world.  That  they  must  renounce 
the  hidden  things  of  dishonesty,  grow  in  grace,  lay  up  for 
themselves  treasures  in  Heaven. 

Will.  All  this  might  be  very  proper  for  them  to  be  taught, 
because  they  had  not  been  bred  up  Christians,  but  heathens 
or  Jews :  and  Christ  wanted  to  make  them  his  followers, 
that  is,  Christians.  But  thank  God  we  do  not  want  to  be 
•taught  all  this,  for  we  are  Christians,  born  in  a  Christian 
country,  of  Christian  parents. 

Stock.  I  suppose,  then,  you  fancy  that  Christianity  comes 
to  people  in  a  Christian  country  by  nature  ? 

Will.  I  think  it  comes  by  a  good  education,  or  a  good 
example.  When  a  fellow  who  has  got  any  sense,  sees  a 
man  cut  off  in  his  prime  by  drinking,  like  Williams,  I  think 
he  will  begin  to  leave  it  off.  When  he  sees  another  man 
respected,  like  you,  master,  for  honesty  and  sobriety,  and 
going  to  church,  why  he  will  grow  honest,  ami  sober,  and 
go  to  church  :  that  is,  he  will  see  it  his  advantage  to  be  a 
Christian. 

Stock.  Will,  what  you  say  is  the  truth,  but 'tis  not  the 
whole  truth.  You  are  right  as  far  as  you  go,  but,  you  do 
not  go  far  enough.  The  worldly  advantages  of  pi  :v,  are, 
as  you  suppose,  in  general  great.  Credit,  prosperity,  and 
health,  almosl  naturally  attend  on  a  religious  life,  both  be- 
cause a  religious  life  supposes  a  sober  and  industrious  life, 
and  because  a  man  who  lives  in  a  course  of  duty  puts  him- 
self in  the  way  of  God's  blessing.  But  a.  true  Christian  has 
a  still  higher  aim  in  view,  and  will  follow  religion  even  under 
circumstances  when  it  may  hint  his  credit  and  ruin  his 
prosperity,  if  it  should  ever  happen  to  he  the  will  of  God 
that  he  should  he  brought  into  such  a  trying  state. 

5* 


106  THE     TWO    SHOEMAKERS. 

Will.  Well,  master,  to  speak  the  truth,  if  I  go  to  church 
on  Sundays,  and  follow  my  work  in  the  Week,  I  must  say  I 
think  that  is  being  good. 

Stock.  I  agree  with  you,  that  he  who  does  both,  gives 
the  best  outward  signs  that  he  is  good,  as  you  call  it.  But 
our  going  to  church,  and  even  reading  the  Bible,  are  no 
proofs  that  we  are  as  good  as  we  need  be,  but  rather  that 
we  do  both  these  in  order  to  make  us  better  than  we  are. 
We  do  both  on  Sundays,  as  means,  by  God's  blessing,  to 
make  us  better  all  the  week.  We  are  to  bring  the  fruits 
of  that  chapter  or  of  that  sermon  into  our  daily  life,  and  try 
to  get  our  inmost  heart  and  secret  thoughts,  as  well  as  our 
daily  conduct,  amended  by  them. 

Will.  Why,  sure,  master,  you  won't  be  so  unreasonable 
as  to  want  a  body  to  be  religious  always  ?  I  can't  do  that, 
neither.    I'm  not  such  a  hypocrite  as  to  pretend  to  it. 

Stock.  Yes,  you  can  be  so  in  every  action  of  your  life. 

Will.  What,  master  !  always  to  be  thinking  about  relig- 
ion \ 

Stock.  No,  far  from  it,  Will ;  much  less  to  be  al> 
talking  about  it.     But  you  must  be  always  under  its  power 
and  spirit. 

Will.  But  surely  'tis  pretty  well  if  I  do  this  when  I  go  to 
church ;  or  while  I  am  saying  my  prayers.  Even  you, 
master,  as  strict  as  you  are,  would  not  have  me  always  on 
my  knees,  nor  always  at  church,  I  suppose :  for  then  how 
would  your  work  be  carried  on?  and  how  would  our  town 
be  supplied  with  shoes  ? 

Stock.  Very  true,  Will.  'T would  be  no  proof  of  our 
religion  to  let  our  customers  go  barefoot;  but  'twould  be  a 
proof  of  our  laziness,  anil  v..'  should  starve,  as  we  ought  to 
d(i.  The  husiiicss  of  the  world  must  not  only  be  carried  on, 
but  carried  on  with  spirit  and  activity.  We  haw  the  same 
authority  for  not  being  slothful  in  business,  as  we  have  for 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  107 

being  fervent  in  spirit.  Religion  has  put  godliness  and 
laziness  as  wide  asunder  as  any  two  things  in  the  world ; 
and  what  God  has  separated  "let  no  man  pretend  to  join. 
Indeed,  the  spirit  of  religion  can  have  no  fellowship  with 
sloth,  indolence,  and  self-indulgence.  But  still,  a  Christian 
does  not  carry  on  his  common  trade  quite  like  another  man, 
neither;  for  something  of  the  spirit  which  he  labors  to 
attain  at  church,  he  carries  with  him  into  his  worldly  con- 
cerns. While  there  are  some  that  set  up  for  Sunday  Chris- 
tians, who  have  no  notion  that  they  are  bound  to  be  week- 
day Christians  too. 

Will.  Why,  master,  I  do  think,  if  God  Almighty  is 
contented  with  one  day  in  seven,  lie  won't  thank  you  for 
tb  rowing  him  the  other  six  into  the  bargain.  I  thought  he 
gave  us  them  for  our  own  use  ;  and  I  am  sure  nobody  works 
uarder  all  the  week  than  you  do. 

Stock.  God,  it  is  true,  sets  apart  one  day  in  seven  for  act- 
ual rest  from  labor,  and  for  more  immediate  devotion  to 
his  service.  But  show  me  that  text  wherein  he  says, 
Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  on  Sundays — Thou  shalt 
keep  my  commandments  on  the  Sabbath  day — To  be  car- 
nally minded  on  Sundays,  is  death — Cease  to  do  evil,  and 
learn  to  do  well  one  day  in  seven — Grow  in  grace  on  the 
Lord's  day — Is  there  any  such  text  ? 

Will.  No,  to  be  sure  there  is  not ;  for  that  would  be  en- 
couraging sin  on  all  the  other  days. 

Stock.  Yes,  just  as  you  do  when  you  make  religion  a 
thing  for  the  church,  and  not  for  the  world.  There  is  no 
one  lawful  calling,  in  pursuing  which  we  may  not  serve  God 
acceptably.  You  and  I  may  serve  him  while  we  are  stitch- 
ing tl  Farmer  Furrow,  while  he  is  plow- 
ing yonder  field.  Betsy  West,  over  the  way,  while  she  is 
nursing  her  sick  mother.  Neighbor  Incle,  in  measuring 
out  his  tape.,  and  ribands.     I  say  all  these  may  servo  God 


108  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

just  as  acceptably  in  those  employments  as  at  church  ;  I 
had  almost  said  more  so. 

Will.  Ay,  indeed  ;  how  can  that  be  ?  Now  you're  too 
much  on  t'other  side. 

Stock.  Because  a  man's  trials  in  trade  being  often  greater, 
they  give  him  fresh  means  of  glorifying  God,  and  proving 
the  sincerity  of  religion.  A  man  who  mixes  in  business,  is 
naturally  brought  into  continual  temptations  and  difficulties. 
These  will  lead  him,  if  he  be  a  good  mau,  to  look  more  to 
God,  than  he  perhaps  would  otherwise  do ;  he  sees  temp- 
tations on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left ;  he  knows  that 
there  are  snares  all  around  him  :  this  makes  him  watchful ; 
he  feels  that  the  enemy  within  is  too  ready  to  betray  him  : 
this  makes  him  humble  himself;  while  a  sense  of  his  own 
difficulties  makes  him  tender  to  the  failings  of  others. 

Will.  Then  you  would  make  one  believe,  after  all,  that 
trade  or  business  must  be  sinful  in  itself,  since  it  brings  a 
man  into  all  these  snares  and  scrapi   , 

Stock.  No,  no,  Will ;  trade  and  business  don't  create  evil 
passions — they  were  in  the  heart  before — only  now  and  then 
they  seem  to  lie  snug  a  little — our  concerns  with  the  world 
bring  them  out  into  action  a  little  more,  and  thus  show 
both  others  and  ourselves  what  we  really  are.  But  then 
as  the  world  offers  more  trials  on  the  one  hand,  so  on  the 
other  it  holds  out  more  duties.  If  we  are  called  to  battle 
oftener,  we  have  more  opportunities  of  victory.  Every 
temptation  resisted,  is  an  enemy  subdued  ;  and  he  that 
ruleth  his  own  spirit,  is  better  than  he  that  taheth  a  city. 

Will.  I  don't  quite  understand  you,  master. 

Stock.  I  will  try  to  explain  myself.  There  is  no  passion 
more  called  out  by  the  transactions  of  trade  than  covetous- 
ness.  Now,  'tis  impossible  to  withstand  such  a  master  sin 
as  that,  without  carrying  a  good  deal  of  the  spirit  of  religion 
into  one's  trade. 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  109 

Will.  'Well,  I  own  I  don't  yet  see  how  I  am  to  be  relig- 
ious when  I'm  hard  at  work,  or  busy  settling  an  account. 
I  can't  do  two  things  at  once  ;  'tis  as  if  I  were  to  pretend 
to  mate  a  shoe  and  cut  out  a  boot  at  the  same  moment. 

Stock.  I  tell  you  both  must  subsist  together.  Nay,  the 
one  must  be  the  motive  to  the  other.  God  commands  ua 
to  be  industrious,  and  if  we  love  him,  the  desire  of  pleas- 
ing him  should  be  the  main  spring  of  our  industry. 

Will.  I  don't  see  how  I  can  always  be  thinking  about 
pleasing  God. 

Stock.  Suppose,  now,  a  man  had  a  wife  and  children 
whom  he  loved,  and  wished  to  serve  ;  would  he  not  be  of- 
ten thinking  about  them  while  he  was  at  work  ?  and  though 
he  would  not  be  always  thinking  nor  always  talking  about 
them,  yet  would  not  the  very  love  he  bore  them  be  a  con- 
stant spur  to  his  industry?  He  would  always  be  pursuing 
the  same  course  from  the  same  motive,  though  his  words 
and  even  his  thoughts  must  often  be  taken  up  in  the  com- 
mon transactions  of  life. 

Will.  I  say  first  one,  then  the  other  ;  now  for  labor,  now 
for  religion. 

Stock.  I  will  show  that  both   must  go  to  .1  will 

suppose  you  were  going  to  buy  so  many  skins  of  our  cur- 
rier— that  is  quite  a  worldly  transaction — you  can't  see 
what  a  spirit  of  religion  has  to  do  with  buying  a  few  calves' 
skins.  Now,  I  tell  you  it  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it. 
Covetousncss,  a  desire  to  ma  >od  bargain,  may  rise  up 

in  your  heart.  S  iii  hness,  a  spirit  of  monopoly,  a  wish  to 
get  all,  in  order  to  distress  others;  these  are  evil  desires,  and 
must  be  subdued.  .Some  opportunity  of  unfair  gain  o] 
in  which  there  may  be  much  sin,  and  yel  little  scandal. 
Here  a  Christian  will  stopshorl  ;  he  will  recollect,  Tlmt  he 
who  maketh  haste  to  be  rich  sJtull  hardly  be  innocent.  Per- 
haps the  sin  may  bo  on  the  side  of  your  dealer — he  may 


110  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

want  to  overreach  you — this  is  provoking — you  are  tempted 
to  violent  anger,  perhaps  to  swear ;  here  is  a  fresh  demand 
on  you  for  a  spirit  of  patience  and  moderation,  as  there  was 
before  for  a  spirit  of  justice  and  self-denial.  If,  by  God's 
grace,  you  get  the  victory  over  these  temptations,  you  are 
the  better  man  for  having  been  called  out  to  them  ;  always 
provided,  that  the  temptations  be  not  of  your  own  seeking. 
If  you  give  way,  and  sink  under  these  temptations,  don't 
go  and  say  trade  and  business  have  made  you  covetous,  pas- 
sionate and  profane.  No,  no ;  depend  upon  it,  you  were  so 
before  ;  you  would  have  had  all  these  evil  seeds  lurking  in 
your  heart,  if  you  had  been  loitering  about  at  home  and 
doing  nothing,  v,  ith  the  additional  sin  of  idleness  into  the 
bargain.  When  you  are  busy,  the  devil  often  tempts  you ; 
when  you  are  idle,  you  tempt  the  devil.  If  business  and 
the  world  call  these  evil  tempers  into  action,  business  and 
the  world  call  that  religion  into  action  too  which  teaches  us 
to  resist  them.  And  in  tins  you  see  the  week-day  fruit  of 
the  Sunday's  piety.  'Tis  trade  and  business  in  the  week 
which  call  us  to  put  our  Sunday  readings,  praying,  and 
church-going  into  practice. 

Will.  Well,  master,  you  have  a  comical  way,  somehow, 
of  coming  over  one.  I  never  should  have  thought  there 
would  have  been  any  religion  wanted  in  buying  and  selling 
a  few  calves'  skins.  But  I  begin  to  see  there  is  a  good  deal 
in  what  you  say.  And,  whenever  I  am  doing  a  common 
action,  I  will  try  to  remember  that  it  must  be  done  after  a 
godly  sort. 

Stock.  I  hear  the  clock  strike  nine — let  us  leave  off  our 
work.  I  will  only  observe  further,  that  one  good  end  of 
our  bringing  religion  into  our  business  is,  to  put  us  in  mind 
not  to  undertake  more  business  than  we  can  carry  on  con- 
sistently with  our  religion.  I  shall  never  commend  that 
man's  diligence,  though  it  is  often  commended  by  the  world, 


THE     TWO     SHOE  MAKERS.  Ill 

who  is  not  diligent  about  the  salvation  of  Lis  soul.  We  are 
as  much  forbidden  to  be  overcharged  with  the  cares  of  life, 
as  with  its  pleasures.  I  only  wish  to  prove  to  you,  that  a 
discreet  Christian  may  be  wise  for  both  worlds ;  that  he  may 
employ  his  bauds  without  entangling  his  soul,  and  labor  for 
the  meat  that  perisheth,  without  neglecting  that  which  en- 
dureth  unto  eternal  life  ;  that  he  may  be  prudent  for  time 
while  he  is  wise  for  eternity. 


PART     VI. 

DIALOGUE  THE  SECOND.       ON  THE  DUTY  OF  CARRYING    RELIG- 
ION INTO  OUR  AMUSEMENTS. 

The  next  eveniug  Will  Simpson  being  got  first  to  his 
work,  Mr.  Stock  found  him  singing  very  cheerfully  over  his 
last.  His  master's  entrance  did  not  prevent  his  finishing 
his  sono-  which  concluded  with  these  words: 

"Sin      life  is  no  more  than  a]  at  best, 

Let  us  strew  the  way  over  with  flowers." 

When  "Will  had  concluded  his  song,  he  turned  to  Mr. 
Stock,  and  said,  "I  thank  you,  master,  for  first  putting  it 
into  my  head  how  wicked  it  is  to  sing  profane  and  indecenl 
songs.  T  never  Bing  any  now  which  have  any  wicked  words 
in  tlu in. 

Stock.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  So  far  you  do  well.  But 
there  are  other  things  as  bad  as  wicked  words,  nay  worse 
perhaps,  though  tiny  do  not  so  much  shock  the  ear  of  de- 
c<  ncy. 

Will.  Wlie.t  is  that,  master?  What  can  be  so  bad  as 
wicked  words  '. 


112  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

Stock.  Wicked  thoughts,  Will.  Which  thoughts,  when 
they  are  covered  with  smooth  words,  and  dressed  out  in 
pleasing  rhymes,  so  as  not  to  shock  modest  young  people 
by  the  sound,  do  more  harm  to  their  principles,  than  those 
songs  of  which  the  words  are  so  gross  and  disgusting,  that 
no  person  of  common  decency  can  for  a  moment  listen 
to  them. 

Will.  Well,  master,  I  am  sure  that  was  a  very  pretty 
song  I  was  singing  when  you  came  in,  and  a  song  which 
very  sober,  good  people  sing. 

Stock.  Do  they  ?  Then  I  will  be  bold  to  say  that  sing- 
ing such  songs  is  no  part  of  their  goodness.  I  heard  in- 
deed but  two  lines  of  it,  but  they  were  so  heathenish  that  I 
desire  to  hear  no  more. 

Will.  Now  you  are  really  too  hard.  What  harm  could 
there  be  in  it  ?     There  was  not  one  indecent  word. 

Stock.  I  own,  indeed,  that  indecent  words  are  particu- 
larly offensive.  But,  as  I  said  before,  though  immodest  ex- 
pressions offend  the  ear  more,  they  do  not  corrupt  the  heart, 
perhaps,  much  more  than  songs  of  which  the  words  are  de- 
cent, and  the  principle  vicious.  In  the  latter  case,  because 
there  is  nothing  that  shocks  his  ear,  a  man  listens  till  the 
sentiment  has  so  corrupted  his  heart,  that  his  ears  grow 
hardened  too;  by  long  custom  he  loses  all  sense  of  the  dan- 
ger of  profane  diversions ;  and  I  must  say  I  have  often 
heard  young  women  of  character  sing  songs  in  company, 
which  I  should  be  ashamed  to  read  by  myself.  But  come, 
as  we  work,  let  us  talk  over  this  business  a  little;  and  first 
let  us  stick  to  this  sober  song  of  yours,  that  you  boast  so 
much  about.  (repeats) 

"  Since  life  is  no  more  than  a  passage  at  best, 
Let  us  strew  the  way  over  with  flowers." 

Now  what  do  you  learn  by  this  ? 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  113 

Will.  Whyymaster,  I  don't  pretend  to  learn  much  by- 
it.     But  'tis  a  pretty  tune  and  pretty  words. 

Stock.  But  what  do  these  pretty  words  mean  ? 

Will.  That  we  must  make  ourselves  merry  because  life 
is  short. 

Stock.  Will !  Of  what  religion  arc  you  ? 

Will.  You  are  always  asking  one  such  odd  questions, 
master  ;  why  a  Christian,  to  be  sure. 

Stock.  If  I  often  ask  you  or  others  this  question,  it  is  only 
because  I  like  to  know  what  grounds  I  am  to  go  upon  when 
I  am  talking  with  you  or  them.  I  conceive  that  there  are 
in  this  country  two  sorts  of  people,  Christians  and  no  Chris- 
tians. Now,  if  people  profess  to  be  of  this  first  description, 
I  expect  one  kind  of  notions,  opinions,  and  behavior  from 
them ;  if  they  say  they  are  of  the  latter,  then  I  look  for 
another  set  of  notions  and  actions  from  them.  I  compel 
no  man  to  think  with  me.  I  take  every  man  at  his  word. 
I  only  expect  him  to  think  and  believe  according  to  the 
character  he  takes  upon  himself,  and  to  act  on  the  princi- 
ples of  that  character  winch  he  professes  to  maintain. 

Will.  That's  fair  enough — I  can't  say  but  it  is — to  take 
a  man  at  his  own  word,  and  on  his  own  grounds. 

Stock.  Well  then.  Of  whom  does  the  Scripture  speak 
when  it  says,  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die? 

Will.  Why  of  heathens,  to  be  sure,  not  of  Christians. 

Stock.  And  of  whom  when  it  says,  Let  us  crown  our- 
selves with  rosebuds  before  they  arc  withered  ' 

Will.  O,  that  is  Solomon's  worldly  fool. 

Stock.  You  disapprove  of  b<5th,  then. 

Will.  To  be  sure  I  do.  I  should  not  be  a  Christian  if  I 
did  not. 

Stock.  And  yet,  though  a  Christian,  you  are  admiring  (he 
very  same  thought  in  the  song  you  were  singing.  How  do 
you  reconcile  this? 


114  THE    TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

Will.  O,  there  is  no  comparison  between  them.  These 
several  texts  arc  designed  to  describe  loose,  wicked  heathens. 
Now  I  learn  texts  as  part  of  my  religion.  But  religion,  you 
know,  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  song.  I  sing  a  song  for  my 
pleasure. 

Stock.  In  our  last  night's  talk,  Will,  I  endeavored  to 
prove  to  you  that  religion  was  to  be  brought  into  our  busi- 
ness. I  wish  now  to  let  you  see  that  it  is  to  be  brought  into 
our  pleasure  also.  And  that  he  who  is  really  a  Christian, 
must  be  a  Christian  in  his  very  diversions. 

Will.  Now  you  are  too  strict  again,  master  ;  as  you  last 
night  declared,  that  in  our  business  you  would  not  have  us 
always  praying,  so  I  hope  that  in  our  pleasure  you  would 
not  have  us  always  psalm-singing.  I  hope  you  would  not 
have  all  one's  singing  to  be  about  good  things. 

Stock.  Not  so,  Will;  but  I  would  not  have  any  part 
either  of  our  business  or  our  pleasure  to  be  about  evil  things. 
It  is  one  thing  to  be  singing  about  religion,  it  is  another 
thing  to  be  singing  against  it.  Saint  Peter,  I  fancy,  would 
not  much  have  approved  your  favorite  song.  He,  at  least 
seemed  to  have  another  view  of  the  matter,  when  he  said, 
The  end  of  all  things  is  at  hand.  Now  this  text  teaches 
much  the  same  awful  truth  with  the  first  line  of  your  song. 
J  Jut  let  us  see  to  what  different  purposes  the  apostle  and  the 
poet  turn  the  very  same  thought.  Your  song  says,  because 
life  is  so  short,  let  us  make  it  merry.  Let  us  divert  our- 
selves so  much  on  the  road,  that  we  may  forget  the  end. 
Now  what  says  the  apostle,  Because  the  end  of  all  things  is 
at  hand  be  ye  therefore  sober  and  toatch  unto  prayer. 

Will.  Why,  master,  I   like  to  be  sober  too,  and  have 
left  off  chinking.     But  still  I  never  thought  that  we  we 
obliged  to  carry  texts  out  of  the  Bible  to  try  the  soundness 
of  a  song  ;  and  to  enable  us  to  judge  if  we  might  be  both 
merry  and  wise  in  singing  it. 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  115 

Stork.  Providence  has  not  so  stinted  our  enjoyments, 
Will,  but  he  has  left  us  many  subjects  of  harmless  merri- 
ment ;  but,  for  my  own  part,  I  am  never  certain  that  auy 
one  is  quite  harmless  till  I  have  tried  it  by  this  rule  that 
you  seem  to  think  so  strict.  There  is  another  favorite  c:itch 
which  I  heard  you  and  some  of  the  workmen  humming 
yesterday. 

Will.  I  will  prove  to  you  that  there  is  not  a  word  of 
harm  in  that ;  pray  listen  now.  (  sings.) 

"Which  is  the  best  day  to  drink' — Sunday,  Monday, 
Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday,  Saturday  ?" 

Stock.  Xow,  Will,  do  you  really  find  you  unwillingness 
to  drink  is  so  great  that  you  stand  in  need  of  all  these  in- 
centives to  provoke  you  to  it?  Do  you  not  find  temptation 
strong  enough  without  exciting  your  inclinations,  and  whet- 
ting your  appetites  in  this  manner  ]  Can  any  thing  be  more 
unchristian  than  to  persuade  youth  by  pleasant  words,  set 
to  the  most  alluring  music,  that  the  pleasures  of  chinking 
are  so  great,  that  every  day  in  the  week,  naming  them  all 
successively,  by  way  of  fixing  and  enlarging  the  idea,  is 
equally  tit,  equally  proper,  and  equally  delightful,  for  whatl 
— for  the  low  and  sensual  purpose  of  getting  drunk.  Tell 
mo,  Will,  arc  you  so  very  averse  to  pleasure  ?  Are  you  nat- 
urally so  cold  and  dead  to  nil  pas-ion  and  temptation,  that 
you  really  find  it  necessary  to  inflame  your  imagination,  and 
disorder  your  senses,  in  order  to  excite  a  quicker  relish  for 
the  pleasure  of  sin  ? 

Will.  All  this  is  true  enough,  indeed ;  but  I  never  saw  it 
in  this  light  before. 

Stock.  As  1  passed  by  the  Grayhound  last  night,  in  my 
way  to  my  evening's  walk  in  the  fields,  I  caught  this  one 
verse  of  a  song  which  the  club  were  singing  : 

"Bring  i  .  the  music  bring, 

Joy  shall  quickly  find  us ; 


116  THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS. 

Drink,  and  dance,  and  laugh,  and  sing, 
And  cast  dull  care  behind  us." 

When  I  got  into  the  fields,  I  could  not  forbear  comparing 
this  song  with  the  second  lesson  last  Sunday  evening  at 
church  ;  these  were  the  words  :  Take  heed  lest  at  any  time 
your  heart  be  overcharged  with  drunkenness,  and  so  that 
day  come  upon  you  unawares,  for  as  a  snare  shall  it  come 
upon  all  them  that  are  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Will.  Why,  to  be  sure,  if  the  second  lesson  was  right, 
the  song  must  be  wrong. 

Stock.  I  ran  over  in  my  mind  also  a  comparison  between 
such  sonjTs  as  that  which  begins  with 

"Drink,  and  drive  care  away," 

with  those  injunctions  of  holy  writ,  Watch  and  pray,  there- 
fore, that  you  enter  not  into  temptation  ;  and  again,  Watch 
and  pray  that  you  may  escape  all  these  things.  I  say  I 
compared  this  with  the  song  I  allude  to, 

"  Drink  and  drive  care  away, 

Drink  and  be  merry ; 

You  '11  ne'er  go  the  faster 

To  the  Stygian  ferry." 

I  compared  this  with  that  awful  admonition  of  Scripture 
how  to  pass  the  time.  Not  in  rioting  and  drunkenness, 
not  in  chambering  and  wantonness,  but  put  ye  on  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  and  make  not  provision  for  the  flesh  to  fulfill 
the  lusts  thereof. 

Will.  I  am  afraid  then,  master,  you  would  not  much 
npprovo  of  what  I  used  to  think  a  very  pretty  song,  which 
begins  with, 

"A  plaguo  on  those  musty  old  rubbers 
Who  teach  ua  to  fast  and  to  think." 

Stock.  Will,   what  would  you  think  of  any  one  who 


THE     TWO     SHOEMAKERS.  1 1 7 

should  sit  dowH  and  write  a  book  or  a  sornj  to  abuse  the 
clergy  ? 

Will.  Why  I  should  think  he  was  a  very  wicked  fellow, 
and  I  hope  no  one  would  look  into  such  a  book,  or  sing 
such  a  song. 

Stock.  And  yet  it  must  certainly  be  the  clergy  who  are 
scoffed  at  in  that  verse,  it  being  their  professed  business  to 
teach  us  to  think  and  be  serious. 

Will.  Ay,  master,  and  now  you  have  opened  my  eyes, 
I  think  I  can  make  some  of  those  comparisons  myself 
between  the  spirit  of  the  Bible,  and  the  spirit  of  these 

songs. 

"Bring  the  flask,  the  goblet  bring," 

won't  stand  very  well  in  company  with  the  threat  of  the 
prophet:  Woe  unto  them  that  rise  early,  that  they  may 
mingle  strong  drink. 

Stock.  Ay,  Will ;  and  these  thoughtless  people  who  live 
up  to  their  singing,  seem  to  be  the  very  people  described  in 
another  place  as  glorying  in  their  intemperauce,  and  acting 
what  their  songs  describe :  They  look  at  the  wine  and  say 
it  is  red,  it  moveth  itself  aright  in  the  cup. 

Will.  I  do  hope  I  shall  for  the  future  not  only  become 
more  careful  what  songs  I  sing  myself,  but  also  not  to  keep 
company  with  those  who  sing  nothing  else  but  what  in  my 
sober  judgment  I  now  see  to  be  wrong. 

Stock.  As  we  shall  have  no  body  in  the  world  to  come, 
it  is  a  pity  not  only  to  make  our  pleasures  here  consist  en- 
tirely in  the  delights  of  animal  life,  but  to  make  our  very 
songs  consist  in  extolling  and  exalting  those  delights  which 
are  unworthy  of  the  man  as  well  as  of  the  Christian.  If, 
through  temptation  or  weakness,  we  fall  into  errors,  let  us 
not.  establish  and  confirm  them  by  picking  up  all  the  songs 
and  scraps  of  verses  which  excuse,  justify,  and  commend 
sin.     That  time  is  short,  is  a  reason  given  by  these  song- 


118  THE     TWO      SHOEMAKERS. 

mongers  why  we  should  give  into  greater  indulgences. 
That  time  is  short,  is  a  reason  given  hy  the  apostle  why 
we  should  enjoy  our  dearest  comforts  as  if  we  enjoyed  them 
not. 

Now,  Will,  I  hope  you  will  see  the  importance  of  so 
managing,  that  our  diversions  (for  diversions  of  some  kind 
we  ail  require),  may  be  as  carefully  chosen  as  our  other  em- 
ployments. For  to  make  them  such  as  effectually  drive  out 
of  our  minds  all  that  the  Bible  and  the  minister  have  been 
putting  into  them,  seems  to  me  as  imprudent  as  it  is  un- 
christian. But  this  is  not  all.  Such  sentiments  as  these 
songs  contain,  set  off  by  the  prettiest  music,  heightened  by 
liquor  and  all  the  noise  and  spirit  of  what  is  called  jovial  com- 
pany, all  this,  I  say,  not  only  puts  every  thing  that  is  right 
out  of  the  mind,  but  puts  every  thing  that  is  wrong  into  it. 
Such  songs,  therefore,  as  tend  to  promote  levity,  thought- 
lessness, loose  imaginations,  false  views  of  life,  forgetfulness 
of  death,  contempt  of  whatever  is  serious,  and  neglect  of 
whatever  is  sober,  whether  they  be,  love-songs,  or  drinking- 
songs,  will  not,  can  not  bo  sung  by  any  man  or  any  woman 
who  makes  a  serious  profession  of  Christianity.* 

*  It  is  with  regret  I  have  lately  observed  that  the  fashionable 
author  and  singer  of  songs  more  loose,  profane,  and  corrupt,  than 
any  of  those  here  noticed,  not  only  received  a  prize  as  the  reward 
of  his  important  services,  but  also  received  the  public  acknowledg- 
ments of  an  illustrious  society  for  having  contributed  to  the  happi- 
ness of  their  country. 


THE    HISTORY     OF    TOM    WHITE, 
THE    POST    BOY. 


PART    I. 

Tom  White  was  one  of  the  best  drivers  of  a  post-chaise 
on  the  Bath  road.  Tom  was  the  son  of  an  honest  laborer 
at  a  little  village  in  Wiltshire ;  he  was  an  active,  industrious 
boy,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  old  enough  he  left  his  father, 
who  was  burdened  with  a  numerous  family,  and  went  to 
live  with  Farmer  Hodges,  a  sober,  worthy  man  in  the  same 
village.  He  drove  the  wagon  all  the  week ;  and  on  Sun- 
days, though  he  was  now  grown  up,  the  farmer  required 
him  to  attend  the  Sunday  School,  carried  on  under  the  in- 
spection of  Dr.  Shepherd,  the  worthy  vicar,  and  always 
made  him  read  his  Bible  in  the  evening  after  he  had 
served  his  cattle ;  and  would  have  turned  him  out  of  his 
service  if  he  had  ever  gone  t<>  the  ale-house  for  his  own 
pleasure. 

Tom,  by  carrying  some  wagon  loads  of  faggots  to  the 
Bear  inn,  at  Devizes,  made  many  acquaintances  in  the 
stable-yard.  Ee  soon  learned  to  compare  his  own  cat 
frock,  and  shoes  thick  set  with  nails,  with  the  smart  red 
jackets,  and  tighl  boots  of  the  post-hoys,  and  grevs  ashamed 
of  his  «»'An  homelj  dress;  he  was  resolved  to  drive  a  chaise, 
to  gei  money,  and  t<>  see  the  world.  Foolish  fellow!  he 
never  considered  that,  though  it  is  true,  a  wagoner  works 
hard  all  day,  yet  he  gets  a  quiet  evening  at  home,  and  un- 


120  THE     Hi"  STORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

disturbed  rest  at  night.  However,  as  there  must  be  chaise- 
boys  as  well  as  plow-boys,  there  was  no  great  harm  in  tho 
•  change.  Tho  evil  company  to  which  it  exposed  him  was 
the  chief  mischief.  He  left  Farmer  Hodges,  though  not 
without  sorrow,  at  quitting  so  kind  a  master,  and  got  him- 
self hired  at  the  Black  Bear. 

Notwithstanding  the  temptations  to  which  he  was  now 
exposed,  Tom's  good  education  stood  by  him  for  some  time. 
At  first  he  was  frightened  to  hear  the  oaths  and  wicked 
words  which  are  too  often  uttered  in  a  stable-yard.  However, 
though  he  thought  it  very  wrong,  he  had  not  the  courage 
to  reprove  it,  and  the  next  step  to  being  easy  at  seeing 
others  sin  is  to  sin  ourselves.  By  degrees  he  began  to 
think  it  manly,  and  a  mark  of  spirit  in  others  to  swear ; 
though  the  force  of  good  habits  was  so  strong  that  at  first, 
when  he  ventured  to  swear  himself,  it  was  with  fear,  and  in 
a  low  voice.  But  he  was  soon  laughed  out  of  his  sheep- 
ishness,  as  they  called  it ;  and  though  lie  never  became  so 
profane  and  blasphemous  as  some  of  his  companions  (for 
he  never  swore  in  cool  blood,  or  in  mirth,  as  so  many  do), 
yet  he  would  too  often  use  a  dreadful  bad  word  when  he 
was  in  a  passion  with  his  horses.  And  here  I  can  not  but 
drop  a  hint  on  the  deep  folly  as  well  as  wickedness,  of  being 
in  a  great  rage  with  poor  beasts,  who,  not  having  the  gift 
of  reason,  can  not  be  moved  like  human  creatures,  with  all 
the  wicked  words  that  are  said  to  them  ;  though  these 
dumb  creatures,  unhappily,  having  the  gift  of  feeling,  suffer 
as  much  as  human  creatures  can  do,  at  the  cruel  and  un- 
necessary beatings  given  them.  Tom  had  been  bred  up  to 
think  that  drunkenness  was  n  great  sin,  for  he  never  saw 
Farmer  Hodges  drunk  in  his  life,  and  where  a  farmer  is 
sober  himself,  his  men  are  less  likely  t<>  drink,  or  if  they  do 
the  master  can  reprove  them  with  the  better  grace. 

Tom  was  not  naturally  fond  of  drink,  yet  for  the  sake 


THE     POSTBOY.  121 

of  being  thought  merry  company,  and  a  hearty  fellow,  he 
often  drank  more  than  he  ought.  As  he  had  been  used  to 
go  to  church  twice  on  Sunday,  while  he  lived  with  the 
farmer  (who  seldom  used  his  horses  on  that  day,  except  to 
carry  his  wife  to  church  behind  him),  Tom  felt  a  little  un- 
easy when  he  was  sent  the  very  first  Sunday  a  long  journey 
with  a  great  family ;  for  I  can  not  conceal  the  truth,  that 
too  many  gentlefolks  will  travel,  when  there  is  no  necessity 
for  it,  on  a  Sunday,  and  when  Monday  would  answer  the 
end  just  as  well.  This  is  a  great  grief  to  all  good  and 
sober  people,  both  rich  and  poor;  and  it  is  still  more  inex- 
cusable in  the  great,  who  have  every  day  at  their  command. 
Eowever,  he  kepi  his  thoughts  to  himself,  though  he  could 
not  now  and  then  help  thinking  how  quietly  things  were 
going  on  at  the  farmer's,  whose  wagoner  on  a  Sunday  led 
as  easy  a  life  as  if  he  had  been  a  gentleman.  But  he  soon 
lost  all  thoughts  of  this  kind,  and  in  time  did  not  know  a 
Sunday  from  a  Monday.  Tom  went  on  prosperously,  as  it 
is  called,  for  three  or  four  years,  got  plenty  of  money,  but 
saved  not  a  shilling.  As  soon  as  his  horses  were  once  in 
the  stable,  whoever  would  mighl  see  them  fed  for  Tom.  He 
had  other  fish  to  fry.  Fives,  cards,  cudgel-playing,  laying 
wagers,  and  keeping  loose  company,  each  of  which  heat 
first  di  lil     I     i   I  each  of  which  hesoon  learned  to  practice, 

ran  away  with  all  his ney,  and  all  bis  spare  time ;  and 

though  he  was  generally  in  the  way  as  soon  as  the  horses 
were  ready  (because  if  there  was  no  driving  there  was  no 
I,  yet  he  did  not  care  whether  the  carriage  was  clean  or 
dirty,  if  the  horses  looked  well  or  ill,  if  the  harness  was 
whole,  or  the  horses  were  shod.  The  certainty  that  the 
gains  of  to-morrow  would  make  up  for  the  extravagance  of 
to-day,  nude  him  quite  thoughtless  and  happy;  l\>\-  he 
was  young,  active,  and  healthy,  and   uever  foresaw  thai  a 

G 


122  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     >,  H  I  T  E  , 

rainy  da}'  might  come,  when  he  would  want  what  lie  now 
squandered. 

One  day,  heing  a  little  flustered  with  liquor  as  he  was 
driving  his  return  chaise  through  Brentford,  he  saw  just  he 
fore  him  another  empty  carriage,  driven  by  one  of  his  ac- 
quaintance; he  whipped  up  his  horses,  resolving  to  outstrip 
the  other,  and  swearing  dreadfully  that  he  would  be  at  the 
Red  Lion  first — for  a  pint — "  Done  !"  cried  the  other,  "  a 
wager."  Both  cut  and  spurred  the  poor  beasts  with  the 
usual  fury,  as  if  their  credit  had  been  really  at  stake,  or 
their  lives  had  depended  on  that  foolish  contest.  Tom's 
chaise  had  now  got  up  to  that  of  his  rival,  and  they  drove 
along  side  of  each  other  with  great  fury  and  many  impre- 
cations. But  in  a  narrow  part  Tom's  chaise  being  in  the 
middle,  with  his  antagonist  on  one  side,  and  a  cart  driving 
against  him  on  the  other,  the  horses  reared,  the  carriages 
got  entangled  ;  Tom  roared  out  a  great  oath  to  the  other 
to  stop,  which  he  either  could  not,  or  would  not  do,  but  re- 
turned an  horrid  imprecation  that  he  would  win  the  wager 
if  he  was  alive,  Tom's  horses  took  fright,  and  he  himself 
was  thrown  to  the  ground  with  great  violence.  As  soon  as 
he  could  be  got  from  under  the  wheels,  he  was  taken  up 
senseless,  his  leg  was  broken  in  two  places,  and  his  body 
was  much  bruised.  Some  people  whom  the  noise  had 
brought  together,  put  him  in  the  post-chaise  in  which  the 
wagoner  kindly  assisted,  but  the  other  driver  seemed  care- 
less and  indifferent,  and  drove  off,  observing  with  a  brutal 
coolness,  '•  [  am  sorry  I  have  lost  my  pint;  I  should  have 
beat  him  hollow,  had  it  not  been  for  this  little  accident." 
Some  gentlemen  who  came  out  of  the  inn,  after  reprim 
ing  this  savage,  inquired  who  he  was,  wrote  to  inform  his 
master,  and  got  him  discharged:  resolving  that  neither 
they  nor  any  of  their  friends  would  ever  employ  him,  a.--l 


THE     POST    BOY.  123 

he  was  long  out  of  place,  and  nobody  ever  cared  to  be 
driven  by  him. 

Tom  was  taken  to  one  of  those  excellent  hospitals  with 
which  Loudon  abounds.  His  agonies  were  dreadful,  his 
leg  was  set,  and  a  high  fever  came  on.  As  soon  as  he  was 
left  alone  to  reflect  on  his  condition,'  his  first  thought  was 
that  he  should  die,  and  his  horror  was  inconceivable. 
Alas  !  said  he,  what  will  become  of  my  poor  soul  ?  I  am 
cut  off  in  the  very  commission  of  three  great  sins :  I  was 
drunk,  I  was  in  a  horrible  passion,  and  I  had  oaths  and 
blasphemies  in  my  mouth.  He  tried  to  pray,  but  he  could 
not;  his  mind  was  all  distraction,  and  he  thought  he  was 
so  very  wicked  that  God  would  not  forgive  him ;  because, 
said  he,  I  have  sinned  against  light  and  knowledge ;  I  have 
had  a  sober  education,  and  good  examples ;  I  was  bred  in 
the  fear  of  God,  and  the  knowledge  of  Christ,  and  I  deserve 
nothing  but  punishment.  At  length  he  grew  light-headed, 
and  there  was  little  hope  of  his  life.  Whenever  he  came 
to  his  senses  for  a  few  minutes,  he  cried  out,  0  !  that  my 
old  companions  could  now  see  me,  surely  they  would  take 
warning  by  my  sad  fate,  and  repent  before  it  is  too  late. 

By  the  Messing  of  God  on  the  skill  of  the  surgeon,  and 
the  care  of  the  nurses,  he  however  grew  better  in  a  few 
days.  And  here  let  me  stop  to  remark,  what  a  mercy  it  is 
that  we  live  in  a  Christian  country,  where  the  poor,  when 
sick,  or  lame,  or  wounded,  are  taken  as  much  care  of  as 
any  gentry:  nay,  in  some  respects  more,  because  in  hos- 
pitals and  infirmaries  there  are  more  doctors  and  surgeons 
io  attend,  than  most  private  gentlefolks  ran  afford  to  have 
at  their  own  houses,  whereas  there  never  ivas  a  hospital  hi 
the  whole  heathen  world.  Blessed  be  God  lor  this,  among 
the  thousand  oilier  excellent  fruits  of  the  <  Ihristian  religion  ' 
A  religion  which,  like  in  Divine  founder,  while  its  grand 
object  is  the  salvation  of  men's  souls,  teaches  us  also  to  re- 


124  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

lievo  their  bodily  wants.  It  directs  us  uever  to  forget  that 
He  who  forgave  sins,  healed  diseases,  and  while  He  preached 
the  Gospel,  fed  the  multitude. 

It  was  eight  weeks  before  Tom  could  be  taken  out  of  bed. 
This  was  a  happy  affliction ;  fur  by  the  grace  of  God,  this 
lung  sickness  and  solitude  gave  him  time  to  reflect  on  his 
past  life.  He  began  seriously  to  hate  those  darling  sins 
which  had  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  ruin.  He  could 
now  pray  heartily  ;  he  confessed  and  lamented  his  iniquities, 
with  many  tears,  and  began  to  hope  that  the  mercies  of 
God,  through  the  merits  of  a  Redeemer,  might  yet  be  ex- 
tended to  him  on  his  sincere  repentance.  He  resolved 
never  more  to  return  to  the  same  evil  courses,  but  he  did 
not  trust  in  his  own  strength,  but  prayed  that  God  would 
give  him  grace  for  the  future,  as  well  as  pardon  for  the 
past.  He  remembered,  and  he  was  humbled  at  the  thought, 
that  he  used  to  have  short  fits  of  repentance,  and  to  form 
resolutions  of  amendment,  in  his  wild  and  thoughtless  days  ; 
and  often  when  he  had  a  bad  head-ache  after  a  drinking 
bout,  or  had  lust  his  muney  at  all-fours,  he  vowed  never  to 
drink  or  play  again.  But  as  soon  as  his  head  was  well  aud 
his  pockets  recruited,  he  forgot  all  his  resolutions.  And 
how  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  for  he  trusted  in  his  own 
strength,  he  never  prayed  to  God  to  strengthen  him,  nor 
ever  avoided  the  next  temptation.  He  thought  that  amend- 
ment was  a  thing  to  be  set  about  at  any  time;  he  did  not 
know  that  it  is  the  grace  of  God  which  bringeih  us  to  re- 
pentance. 

The  case  was  now  different.  Tom  began  to  find  that  his 
strength  was  perfect  weakness,  and  that  he  could  do  nothing 
without  the  Divine  assistance,  fur  which  he  prayed  heartily 
and  constantly.  He  sent  home  for  his  Bible  and  Prayer- 
book,  which  he  had  not  opened  for  two  years,  and  which 
had  been  given  him  when  he  left  the  Sunday  School.     He 


THE     POST     BOY.  125 

spent  the  chjef  part  of  his  time  in  reading-  them,  and  de- 
rived great  comfort,  as  well  as  great  knowledge,  from  this 
employment  of  his  time.  The  study  of  the  Bible  filled  his 
heart  with  gratitude  to  God,  who  had  not  cut  him  off  in 
the  midst  of  his  sins;  but  had  given  him  space  for  repent- 
ance ;  and  the  agonies  he  had  lately  suffered  with  his  broken 
leg  increased  the  thankfulness  that  he  had  escaped  the 
more  dreadful  pain  of  eternal  misery.  And  here  let  me 
remark  what  encouragement  this  is  for  rich  people  to  give 
away  Bibles  and  good  books,  and  not  to  lose  all  hope, 
though,  for  a  time,  they  see  little  or  no  good  effect  from  it. 
According  to  all  appearance,  Tom's  books  were  never  likely 
to  do  him  any  good,  and  yet  his  generous  benefactor,  who 
had  cast  his  bread  upon  the  waters,  found  it  after  many 
days ;  for  this  Bible,  which  had  lain  untouched  for  years, 
was  at  last  made  the  instrument  of  his  reformation.  God 
will  work  in  his  own  good  time,  and  in  his  own  way,  but 
our  zeal  and  our  exertions  are  the  means  by  which  he  com- 
monly chooses  to  work. 

As  soon  as  he  <jot  well,  and  was  discharged  from  the 
hospital,  Tom  began  to  think  he  must  return  to  get  his 
bread.  At  first  he  bad  some  scruples  about  going  back  to 
his  old  employ:  but,  says  he,  sensibly  enough,  gentlefolks 
must  travel,  travelers  must  have  chaises,  and  chaises  must 
have  drivers;  'tis  a  very  honest  calling,  and  I  don't  know 
that  goodness  belongs  to  one  sort  of  business  more  than  to 
another;  and  he  who  can  be  good  in  a  stale  of  great  temp- 
tation, provided  the  calling  be  lawful,  and  the  temptations 
are  not  of  his  own  seeking,  and  he  be  diligent  in  prayer, 
maybe  better  than  another  man  for  aught  1  know:  and  all 

Hint  hrlniiqs  to  Us  is,  to  do  our  thlt'l  ill    I  lint  st.'fr  of   llf(    171 

which  if  shut/  please  God  to  call  us  J  and  to  leave  events 
in  God's  hand.  Tom  bad  rubbed  up  his  catechism  at  the 
hospital,  and  'lis  a  pity  that  people  don't  look  at  their  cate- 


126  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

ehism  sometimes  when  tliey  are  grown  up*;  for  it  is  full  as 
good  for  men  and  women  as  it  is  for  children  ;  nay,  better; 
for  though  the  answers  contained  in  it  are  intended  for 
children  to  repeat,  yet  the  duties  enjoined  in  it  are  intended 
for  men  and  woman  to  put  in  practice.  It  is,  if  I  may  so 
speak,  the  very  grammar  of  Christianity  and  of  our  church, 
and  they  who  understand  every  part  of  their  catechism 
thoroughly,  will  not  be  ignorant  of  any  thing  which  a  plain 
Christian  need  know. 

Tom  now  felt  grieved  that  he  was  obliged  to  drive  on 
Sundays.  But  people  who  are  in  earnest  and  have  their 
hearts  in  a  thing,  can  find  helps  in  all  cases.  As  soon  as 
he  had  set  down,  his  company  at  their  stage,  and  had  seen 
his  horses  fed,  says  Tom,  a  man  who  takes  care  of  his 
horses,  will  generally  think  it  right  to  let  them  rest  an 
hour  or  two  at  least.  In  every  town  it  is  a  chance  but 
there  may  be  a  church  open  during  part  of  that  time.  If 
the  prayers  should  be  over,  I'll  try  hard  for  the  sermon ; 
and  if  I  dare  not  stay  to  the  sermon  it  is  a  chance  but  I 
may  catch  the  prayers;  it  is  worth  trying  for,  however ; 
and  as  I  used  to  think  nothing  of  making  a  push,  for  the 
sake  of  getting  an  hour  to  gamble,  I  need  not  grudge  to 
take  a  little  p  ins  extraordinary  to  serve  God.  By  this 
watchfulness  he  soon  got  to  know  the  hours  of  service  at 
all  the  towns  on  !he  road  he  traveled ;  and  while  the  horses 
fed,  Tom  went  to  church  ;  and  it  became  a  favorite  proverb 
with  him,  that  p.  ayers  and  provender  hinder  no  mati'n 
journey;  and  I  beg  leave  to  recommend  Tom's  maxim 
to  all  travelers ;  whether  master  or  servant,  carrier  or 
coachman. 

At  first  his  companions  wanted  to  laugh  and  make  sport 
of  this — but  when  they  saw  that  no  lad  on  the  i  ad  Mas  up 
so  early  or  worked  *so  hard  as  Tom,  when  i  >y  saw  no 
chaise  so  neat,  no  glasses  so  bright,  no  harness     >  tight,  no 


THE     POST     BOY".  127 

driver  so  diligent,  so  clean,  or  so  civil,  tbey  found  he  was 
no  subject  to  make  sport  at.  Tom  indeed  was  very  careful 
in  looking  after  the  linen-pins ;  in  never  giving  Lis  horses 
too  much  water  when  they  were  hot ;  nor,  whatever  was 
his  haste,  would  he  ever  gallop  them  up  hill,  strike  them 
across  the  head,  or  when  tired,  cut  and  slash  them,  or  gal- 
lop them  over  the  stones,  as  soon  as  he  got  into  town,  as 
some  foolish  fellows  do.  What  helped  to  cure  Tom  cf  these 
bad  practices,  was  the  remark  he  met  with  in  the  Bible, 
that  a  good  man  is  merciful  to  his  beast  He  was  much 
moved  one  day  on  reading  the  Prophet  Jonah,  to  observe 
what  compassion  the  great  God  of  heaven  and  earth  had 
for  poor  beasts ;  for  one  of  the  reasons  there  given  why 
the  Almighty  was  unwilling  to  destroy  the  great  city  of 
Nineveh  was,  because  there  was  much  cattle  in  it.  After 
this,  Tom  never  could  bear  to  see  a  wanton  stoke  inflicted. 
Doth  God  care  for  horses,  said  he,  and  shall  man  be  cruel 
to  them  ? 

Tom  soon  grew  rich  for  one  in  his  station  ;  for  every  gen- 
tleman on  the  road  would  be  driven  by  no  other  lad  if 
careful  Tom  was  to  be  had.  Being  diligent,  he  got  a  great 
deal  of  money;  being  frugal,  he  spent  but  little  ;  and  hav- 
ing no  vices,  he  wasted  none.  Ee  soon  found  out  that 
there  was  some  meaning  in  thai  texl  which  says,  that  god' 
liness  hath  the  promise  of  the  life  that  now  is,  as  well  as 
that  which  is  to  come  :  for  the  same  principles  which  make 
a  man  sober  and  honest,  hare  also  a  natural  tendency  to 
make  him  healthy  and  rich  ;  while  a  drunkard  and  spend- 
thrift can  hardly  escape  being  sick  and  a  beggar.  Vice  is 
the  parenl  of  mis  iry  in  both  worlds. 

Alter  a  few  years,  Tom   !  ;   a  holiday,  and  made  a 

visit  to  his  native  village;    his  good  cl  >r  had  got 

thither  before  him.  Ee  found  his  father  was  dead,  but 
during  his  long  illness  Tom  had  supplied  him  with  money, 


128  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

and  by  allowing  him  :i  trifle  every  week,  had  had  the 
honest  satisfaction  of  keeping  him  from  the  parish.  Farmer 
Hodges  was  still  living,  but  being  grown  <»ld  and  infirm,  be 
was  desirous  to  retire  from  business.  He  retained  a  great 
regard  for  bis  old  servant,  Tom  ;  and  finding  be  was  worth 
money,  and  knowing  be  knew  something  of  country  busi- 
ness, he  offered  to  let  him  a  small  farm  at  an  easy  rate,  and 
promised  his  assistance  in  the  management  for  the  first 
year,  with  the  loan  of  a  small  sum  of  money,  that  he  might 
set  out  with  a  pretty  stock.  Tom  thanked  him  with  tears 
in  bis  eyes,  went  back  and  took  a  handsome  leave  of  bis 
master,  who  made  him  a  present  of  a  horse  and  cart,  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  his  long  and  faithful  services ;  for,  says 
he,  I  have  saved  many  horses  by  Tom's  care  and  attention, 
and  I  could  well  afford  to  do  the  same  by  every  servant 
who  did  the  same  by  me  ;  and  should  be  a  richer  man  at 
the  end  of  every  year  by  the  same  generosity,  provided  I 
could  meet  with  just  and  faithful  servants  who  deserve  the 
same  rewards.  Tom  was  soon  settled  in  his  new  farm,  and 
in  less  than  a  year  bad  got  every  thing  neat  and  decent 
about  him.  Farmer  Hodges's  long  experience  and  friendly 
advice,  joined  to  his  own  industry  and  bard  labor,  soon 
brought  the  farm  to  great  perfection.  The  regularity,  so- 
briety, peaceableness,  and  piety  of  his  daily  life,  bis  constant 
attendance  at  church  twice  every  Sunday,  and  his  decent 
and  devout  behavior  when  there,  soon  recommended  him 
to  the  notice  of  Dr.  Shepherd,  who  was  si  ill  living,  a  pat- 
tern of  zeal,  activity,  and  benevolence  to  all  parish  priests. 
The  Doctor  soon  began  to  bold  up  Tom,  or,  as  we  must. 
now  more  properly  term  him,  Mr.  Thomas  White,  to  the 
imitation  of  the  whole  parish,  and  the  frequent  and  con- 
descending conversation  of  this  worthy  clergyman  contrib- 
uted no  less  than  his  preaching  to  the  improvement  of  his 
new  parishioner  in  piety. 


THE     POST     BOY.  129 

Farmer  White  soon  found  out  that  a  dairy  could  not 
well  be  carried  on  without  a  mistress,  and  began  to  think 
seriously  of  marrying ;  he  prayed  to  God  to  direct  him  in 
so  important  a  business.  lie  knew  that  a  tawdry,  vain, 
dressy  girl  was  not  likely  to  make  good  cheese  and  butter, 
and  that  a  worldly,  ungodly  woman  would  make  a  sad  wife 
and  mistress  of  a  family.  He  soon  heard  of  a  young 
woman  of  excellent  character,  who  had  been  bred  up  by 
the  vicar's  lady,  and  still  lived  in  the  family  as  upper  maid. 
She  was  prudent,  sober,  industrious,  and  religious.  Her 
neat,  modest,  and  plain  appearance  at  church  (for  she  was 
seldom  seen  any  where  else  out  of  her  master's  family),  was 
an  example  to  all  persons  in  her  station,  and  never  failed 
to  recommend  her  to  strangers,  even  before  they  had  an 
opportunity  of  knowing  the  goodness  of  her  character. 
It  was  her  character,  however,  which  recommended  her 
to  Farmer  White.  He  knew  that  favor  is  deceitful, 
and  beauty  is  vain,  but  a  woman  that  feareth  the  Lord, 
she  shall  be  praised :  ay,  and  not  only  praised,  but 
chosen  too,  says  Farmer  White,  as  he  took  down  his  hat 
from  the  nail  on  which  it  hung,  in  order  io  go  and  wait,  on 
Dr.  Shepherd,  to  break  his  mind,  and  ask  his  consent  ;  for 
he  thought  it  would  1»-  a  very  unhandsome  return  for  all 
the  favors  he  was  receiving  from  his  minister,  to  decoy 
away  his  faithful  servanl  from  her  place,  without  his  con- 
sent. 

This  worthy  gentleman,  though  sorry  to  lose  so  valuable 
a  member  of  his  little  family,  did  not  scruple  a  moment 
about  parting  \\ii!i  her,  when    lie  found   it  would    be   so 

tly  to  her  advantage.     Tom  was  agreeably  sui 
hear  slie  had  saved  fifty  pounds  by  her  frugality.    The  Doc- 
tor married  them  himself,  farmer  Hodges  being  present. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  wedding-day,  Dr.  Shepherd  eon 
desceuded  to  call  on  Farmer  and  Mis.  White, to  give  a  few 

6* 


130  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

words  of  advice  on  the  new  duties  they  had  entered  into  ; 
a  common  custom  with  him  on  these  occasions.  He  often 
took  an  opportunity  to  drop,  in  the  most  kind  and  tender 
way,  a  hint  upon  the  great  indecency  of  making  marriages, 
christenings,  and  above  all,  funerals,  days  of  riot  and  excess, 
as  is  too  often  the  case  in  country  villages.  The  expecta- 
tion that  the  vicar  might  possibly  drop  in,  in  his  walks,  on 
these  festivals,  of  m  restrained  excessive  drinking,  and  im- 
proj>er  convers,  ion,  even  among  those  who  were  not  re- 
strained by  hi  ter  motives,  as  Farmer  and  Mrs.  White 
were. 

What  the  I  ;tor  said  was  always  in  such  a  cheerful,  good- 
humored  wai  Jiat  it  was  sure  to  increase  the  pleasure  of 
the  day,  instead  of  damping  it.  "  Well,  farmer,"  said  he, 
"  and  you,  my  faithful  Sarah,  any  other  friend  might  recom- 
mend peace  and  agreement  to  you  on  your  marriage  ;  but 
I,  on  the  contrary,  recommend  cares  and  strifes."*  The 
company  stared — but  Sarah,  who  knew  that  her  old  mas- 
ter Avas  a  facetious  gentleman,  and  always  had  some  mean- 
ing behind,  looked  serious.  "  Cares  and  strife,  sir,"  said  the 
farmer,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?"  "  I  mean,"  said  he,  "  for 
the  first,  that  your  cares  shall  be  who  shall  please  God  most, 
and  your  strifes,  who  shall  serve  him  best,  and  do  your  duty 
most  faithfully.  Thus,  all  your  cares  and  strifes  being  em- 
ployed to  the  highest  purposes,  all  petty  cares  and  worldly 
strifes  shall  be  at  an  end. 

"Always  remember  that  you  have  both  of  you  a  better 
friend  than  each  other."  The  company  stared  again,  and 
thought  no  woman  could  have  so  good  a  friend  as  her  hus- 
band. "As  you  have  chosen  each  other  from  the  best 
motives,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  you  have  every  reasonable 
ground  to  hope  for  happiness;  but  as  this  world  is  a  soil  in 
which  troubles  and  misfortunes  will  spring  up  ;  troubles 
*  See  Dodd's  Sayi 


IKE     POST     BOY.  131 

from  which  you  can  not  save  one  another;  misfortunes 
which  no  human  prudence  can  avoid  :  then  remember,  'tis 
the  best  wisdom  to  go  to  that  friend  who  is  always  near, 
always  willing,  and  always  able  to  help  you :  and  that 
friend  is  God." 

"  Sir,"  said  Farmer  White,  "  I  humbly  thank  you  for  all 
your  kind  instructions,  of  which  I  shall  now  stand  more  iu 
need  than  ever,  as  I  shall  have  more  duties  to  fulfill.  I  hope 
the  remembrance  of  my  past  offenses  will  keep  me  humble, 
and  that  a  sense  of  my  remaining  sin  will  keep  me  watchful. 
I  set  out  in  the  world,  sir,  with  what  is  called  a  good-natured 
disposition,  but  I  soon  found,  to  my  cost,  that  without  God's 
grace,  that  will  carry  a  man  but  a  little  way.  A  good 
temper  is  a  good  thing,  but  nothing  but  the  fear  of  God 
can  enable  one  to  bear  up  against  temptation,  evil  company, 
and  evil  passions.  The  misfortune  of  breaking  my  leg,  as 
I  then  thought  it,  has  proved  the  greatest  blessing  of  my 
life.  It  showed  me  my  own  weakness,  the  value  of  the 
Bible,  and  the  goodness  of  God.  How  many  of  my  brother 
drivers  have  I  seen,  since  that  time,  cut  off  in  the  prime  of 
life  by  drinking,  or  sudden  accident,  while  I  have  not  oidy 
been  spared,  but  blessed  and  prospered.  O,  sir,  it  would 
be  the  joy  of  my  heart,  if  some  of  my  old  comrades,  good- 
natured,  civil  fellows  (whom  I  can't  help  loving)  could  see 
as  I  have  done,  the  danger  of  evil  courses  before  it  is  too 
late.  Though  they  may  not  hearken  to  you,  sir,  or  any  other 
minister,  they  may  believe  me  because  I  have  been  one  of 
them:  and  I  can  speak  from  experience,  of  the  great  dif- 
ference th(  re  is,  ev<  n  as  to  worldly  comfort,  between  a  life 
of  sobriety  and  a  life  of  sin.  I  could  tell  them,  sir,  noi 
a  thing  1  have  read  in  a  hook,  hut  as  a  truth  1  feci  in  my 
own  heart,  tha  to  fear  God  and  keep  his  commandments, 
will  not  only  bring  a  man  peace  at  last,  hut  will  make  him 
happy  now.     And   !  will  venture  to  say,  sir,  thai    all    the 


132  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

stocks,  pillories,  prisons,  and  gibbets  in  the  land,  I  hough  so 
very  needful  to  keep  bad  men  in  order,  yet  will  never  re- 
strain a  good  man  from  committing  evil  half  so  much  as 
that  single  text,  How  shall  I  do  this  great  wickedness,  and 
sin  against  God  V  Dr.  Shepherd  condescended  to  approve 
of  what  the  farmer  had  said,  kindly  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
and  took  leave. 


PART    II. 

THE  WAY  TO  PLENTY;    OR,  THE    SECOND  PART  OF  TOM  WHITE. 
WRITTEN  IN  1795,  THE  YEAR  OF  SCARCITY. 

Tom  White,  as  we  have  shown  in  the  first  part  of  this 
history,  from  an  idle  post  boy  was  become  a  respectable  farm- 
er. God  had  blessed  his  industry,  and  he  had  prospered 
in  the  world.  He  was  sober  and  temperate,  am],  as  was  the 
natural  consequence,  he  was  active  and  healthy,  lie  was 
industrious  and  frugal,  and  he  became  prosperous  in  his  cir- 
cumstances. This  is  the  ordinary  course  of  Providence. 
But  it  is  not  a  certain  and  necessary  rule.  God  maketh  his 
sun  to  shine  on  the  just  and  on-  tin'  unjust.  A  man  who 
uses  every  honest  means  of  thrift  and  industry,  will,  in  most 
cases,  find  success  attend  his  labors.  But  still,  the  race  is 
not  ahvays  to  the  swift  nor  the  battle  to  the  stroyuj.  God  is 
sometimes  pleased,  for  wise  ends,  to  disappoint  all  the 
worldly  hopes  of  the  most  upright  man.  His  corn  may  be 
smitten  by  a  blight;  his  barns  may  be  consumed  by  fir.'  ; 
his  cattle  may  he  carried  off  by  distemper.  And  to  these, 
and  other  misfortunes,  the  goo  1  man  is  as  liable  as  the 
spendthrift  or  the  knave.     Success  is  the  common  reward 


THE     POST     BOY.  133 

of  industry,  but  if  it  were  its  constant  reward,  the  industri- 
ous would  be  tempted  to  look  no  further  than  the  present 
state.  They  would  lose  one  strong  ground  of  their  faith.  It 
would  set  aside  the  Scripture  scheme.  This  world  would 
then  be  looked  on  as  a  state  of  reward,  instead  of  trial,  and 
we  should  forget  to  look  to  a  day  of  final  retribution. 

Farmer  White  never  took  it  into  his  head,  that,  because 
he  paid  his  debts,  worked  early  and  late,  and  ate  the  bread  of 
carefulness,  he  was  therefore  to  come  into  no  misfortune  like 
other  folk,  but  was  to  be  free  from  the  common  trials  and 
troubles  of  life.  He  krfew  that  prosperity  was  far  from  be- 
ing a  sure  mark  of  God's  favor,  and  had  read  in  good  books, 
and  especially  in  the  Bible,  of  the  great  poverty  and  afflic- 
tions of  the  best  of  men.  Though  he  was  no  great  scholar, 
he  had  sense  enough  to  observe,  that  a  time  of  public  pros- 
perity was  not  always  a  time  of  public  virtue  ;  and  he 
thought  that  what  was  true  of  a  whole  nation  might  be 
true  of  one  man.  So  the  more  he  prospered  the  more  he 
prayed  that  prosperity  might  not  corrupt  his  heart.  And 
when  he  saw  lately  signs  of  public  distress  coining  on,  he 
was  not  half  so  much  frightened  as  some  others  were,  he- 
cause  he  though  I  it  might  do  us  good  in  (he  long  run  ;  and 
he  was  in  hope  that  a  little  poverty  might  bring  on  a  little 
penitence.  The  great  grace  he  labored  after  was  that  of  a 
cheerful  submission,  lie  used  to  say,  that,  if  the  Lord's 
prayer  had  only  contained  those  four  little  words.  Thy  will 
be  dene,  it  would  be  worth  more  than  the  biggest  hook  k 
the  world  without  them. 

Dr.  Shepherd,  th  worthy  vicar  (with  whom  the  farmer's 
wife  had  formerly  lived  as  housekeeper),  was  very  fond  ot 
taking  a  walk  with  him  about  his  grounds,  anil  he  used  to 
say  that  be  learned  as  much  from  the  farmer  as  the  farmer 
did  from  him.  If  the  Doctor  happened  to  observe,  "1  am 
afraid  these  long  rains  will  spoil  this  line  piece  of  oats,"  the 


134  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

farmer  would  answer,  "  But  then,  sir,  think  how  good  it  is 
for  the  grass."  If  the  Doctor  feared  the  wheat  would  be  but 
indifferent,  the  farmer  was  sure  the  rye  would  turn  out  well. 
When  grass  failed,  he  did  not  doubt  but  turnips  would  be 
plenty.  Even  for  floods  and  inundations  he  would  find  out 
some  way  to  justify  Providence.  "  'Tis  better,"  said  he,  "  to 
have  our  lands  a  little  overflowed,  than  that  the  springs  should 
be  dried  up,  and  our  cattle  faint  for  lack  of  water."  When  the 
drought  came,  lie  thanked  God  that  the  season  would  be 
healthy ;  and  the  high  winds,  which  frightened  others,  he 
said,  served  to  clear  the  air.  Whoever,  or  whatever  was 
wrong,  he  was  always  sure  that  Providence  was  in  the 
right.  And  he  used  to  say,  that  a  man  with  ever  so  small 
an  income,  if  lie  had  but  frugality  and  temperance,  and 
would  cut  oil"  all  vain  desires,  and  cast  his  care  upon  God, 
was  richer  than  a  lord  who  was  tormented  by  vanity  and 
covetousness.  When  he  saw  others  in  the  wrong,  he  did  not, 
however,  abuse  them  for  it,  but  took  care  to  avoid  the  same 
fault.  He  had  sense  and  spirit  enough  to  break  through 
many  old,  but  very  bad  customs  of  his  neighbors.  "  If  a 
thing  is  wrong  in  itself,"  said  he  one  day  to  Farmer  Hod- 
ges, "  a  whole  parish  doing  it  can't  make  it  right.  And  as 
to  its  being  an  old  custom,  why,  if  it  be  a  good  one,  I  like 
it  the  better  for  being  old,  because  it  has  had  the  stamp  of 
ages,  and  the  sanction  of  experience  on  its  worth.  But  if 
it  be  old  as  well  as  bad,  that  is  another  reason  for  my  try- 
ing to  put  an  end  to  it,  that  we  may  not  mislead  our  child- 
ren as  our  fathers  have  misled  us." 

THE    ROOF-RAISING. 

Some  years  after  he  was  settled,  he  built  a  large  new  barn. 
All  the  workmen  were  looking  forward  to  the  usual  holiday 
of  roof-raising.  On  this  occasion  it  was  a  custom  to  give  a 
dinner  to  the  workmen,  with  so  much  liquor  after  it,  that 


THE     POST     BOY.  135 

they  got  so  drunk  that  they  not  only  lost  the  remaining 
half-day's  work,  but  they  were  not  always  able  to  work  the 
following  da)r. 

Mrs.  White  provided  a  plentiful  dinner  for  roof-raising, 
and  gave  each  man  his  mug  of  beer.  After  a  hearty  meal 
they  began  to  grow  clamorous  for  more  drink.  The  farmer, 
said,  "  My  lads,  I  don't  grudge  you  a  few  gallons  of  ale 
merely  for  the  sake  of  saving  my  liquor,  though  that  is  some 
consideration,  especially  in  these  dear  times ;  but  I  never 
will,  knowingly,  help  any  man  to  make  a  beast  of  himself. 
I  am  resolved  to  break  through  a  bad  custom.  You  are 
now  well  refreshed.  If  you  will  go  cheerfully  to  your  work, 
you  will  have  half  a  day's  pay  to  take  on  Saturday  night 
more  than  you  would  have  if  this  afternoon  were  wasted  in 
drunkenness.  For  this  your  families  will  be  better;  whereas, 
were  I  to  give  you  more  liquor,  when  you  have  already  had 
enough,  I  should  help  to  rob  them  of  their  bread.  But  I 
wish  to  show  you,  that  I  have  your  good  at  heart  full  as  much 
as  your  profit.  If  you  wUl  now  go  to  work,  I  will  give 
you  all  another  mug  at  night  when  you  leave  off.  Thus 
your  time  will  be  saved,  jour  families  helped,  and  my  ale 
will  not  2:0  to  make  reasonable  creatures  worse  than  brute 
beasts." 

II.  iv  be  stopped.  "You  are  in  right  oii't,  master,"  said 
Tom,  the  thatcher ;  "you  are  a  hearty  man,  farmer,"  said 
John  Plane,  the  carpenter.  "  Come  along,  boys,"  said  Tim 
Brick,  the  mason  :  so  they  all  went  merrily  to  work,  forti- 
fi  d  with  a  good  dinner.  There  was  only  one  drunken  surly 
fellow  that  refused  ;  this  was  Dick  Guzzle, the  smith.  Dick 
never  works  above  two  or  three  days  in  the  week,  and 
spends  the  others  at  the  lied  Lion.  .He  swore,  that  if  the 
farmer  did  not  give  him  as  much  liquor  as  he  liked  al  roof- 
raising,  lie  would  not  strike  another  stroke,  hut  would  leave 
the  job  unfinished,  and  he  might  get  hands  where  he  could. 


136  THE     HIST  OR  V     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

Farmer  White  took  him  at  bis  word,  and  paid  him  oft'  di- 
rectly ;  glad  enough  to  get  rid  of  such  a  sot,  whom  he  had 
only  employed  from  pity  to  a  large  and  almost  starving  fam- 
ily. When  the  men  came  for  their  mug  in  the  evening, 
the  farmer  brought  out  the  remains  of  the  cold  gammon  ; 
they  made  a  hearty  supper,  and  thanked  him  for  having 
broken  through  a  foolish  custom,  which  was  afterward 
much  left  off  in  that  parish,  though  Dick  would  not  come 
into  it,  and  lost  most  of  his  work  in  consequence. 

Farmer  White's  laborers  were  often  complaining  that 
things  were  so  dear  that  they  could  not  buy  a  bit  of  meat. 
He  knew  it  was  partly  true,  but  not  entirely ;  for  it  was  be- 
fore these  very  hard  times  that  their  complaints  begat.. 
One  morning  he  stepped  out  to  see  how  an  outhouse  which 
he  was  thatching  went  on.  He  was  surprised  to  find  the 
work  at  a  stand.  He  walked  over  to  the  thatcher's  house. 
"  Tom,"  said  he,  "  I  desire  that  piece  of  work  may  be  finished 
directly.  If  a -shower  comes  my  grain  will  be  spoiled." 
"Indeed,  master,  I  sha'n't  wo,rk  to-day,  nor  to-morrow 
neither,"  said  Tom.  "  You  forget  that  'tis  Easter  Monday, 
and  to-morrow  is  Easter  Tuesday.  And  so  on  Wednesday 
I  shall  thatch  away,  master.  But  it  is  hard  if  a  poor  man, 
who  works  all  the  seasons  round,  may  not  enjoy  these  few 
holidays,  which  come  but  once  a  year." 

"Tom,"  said  the  farmer,  "  when  these  days  were  first  put 
into  our  prayer-book,  the  good  men  who  ordained  them  to 
be  kept,  little  thought  that  the  time  would  come  when  holi- 
day should  mean  drunken-clay,  and  that  the  seasons  which 
they  meant  to  distinguish  by  superior  piety,  should  be  con- 
verted into  seasons  of  more  than  ordinary  excess.  How 
much  dost  think  now  I  shall  pay  thee  for  this  piece  of 
thatch  ?"  "  Why,  you  know,  master,  you  have  let  it  to  me 
by  the  great.  I  think  between  this  and  to-morrow  night, 
as  the  weather  is  so  fine,  I  could  clear  about  four  shillings, 


THE     POST     BOY.  137 

after  I  have  paid  my  boy ;  but  thatching  does  not  come 
often,  and  other  work  is   not  so  profitable."     "Very  well, 
Tom;  and  how  much  now  do  you  think  you  may  spend  in 
these  two  holidays  1"     "  Why,  master,  if  the  ale  is  pleasant, 
and  the  company  merry,  I  do  not  expect  to  get  off  for  less 
than  three  shillings."     "  Tom,  can  you  do  pounds,  shillings, 
and  pence  ?"     "  I  can  make  a  little  score,  master,  behind 
the  kitchen-door,  with  a  bit  of  chalk,  which  is  as  much  as  I 
want."    "  Well,  Tom,  add  the  four  shillings  you  would  have 
earned  to  the  three  you  intend   to  spend,  what  does  thai 
make?"     "Let  me  see  !  three  and  four  make  seven.    Seven 
shillings,  master."     "  Tom,  you  often  tell  me  the  times  are 
so  bad  that  you  can  never  buy  a  bit  of  meat.     Now  here  is 
the  cost  of  two  joints  at  once  :  to  say  nothing  of  the  sin  of 
wasting  time  and  getting  drunk."     "  I  never  once  thought 
of  that,"  said  Tom.     "Now,  Tom,"  said  the  farmer,  "-if  I 
were   you,  I   would   step  over  to  butcher  Jobbins's,  buy  a 
shoulder  of  mutton,  which  being  left  from  Saturday's  market, 
you  will  get  a  little  cheaper.     This  I  would  make  my  wife' 
bake  in   a  deep  dishful  of  potatoes.     I  would  then  go  to 
work,  and  when  the  dinner  was  ready  I  would  go  and  en- 
joy it  with  my  wife  and  children  ;  you  need   not  give  the 
mutton  to  the  brats,  the   potatoes  will   have  all  tin'  gravy, 
and  be  very  savory  for  them."     "Ay,  but  I  have  got  no 
beer,  master,  the  times iare  so  hard  that   a  poor  man  can't 
afford  to  brew  a  drop  of  drink  now  as  we  used  to  do." 

"Times  are  bad,  and  malt  is  very  dear,  Tom,  and  yet  both 
don't  prevent,  you  from  spending  seven  shillings  in  keeping 
holiday.  Now  send  for  a  quart  of  ale  .-is  it  is  to  be  a  feast: 
and  you  will  even  then  be  four  shillings  richer  than  if  you 
had  gone  to  the  public  house.  1  would  have  you  put  by 
these  foui'  shillings,  till  you  can  add  a  couple  to  them;  with 
this  I  would  get  a  bushel  of  malt,  and  my  wife  should  brew 
it,  and  you  may  lake  a  pint  of  your  own  beer  at  home  of  a 


138  THE     HISTORY    OP     TOM     WHITE, 

night,  which  will  do  you  more  good  than  a  gallon  at  the 
Red  Lion."  "  I  have  a  great  mind  to  take  your  advice, 
master,  but  I  shall  be  made  such  fun  of  at  the  Lion !  they 
will  so  laugh  at  me  if  I  don't  go  I"  "  Let  those  laugh  that 
win,  Tom."  "  But  master,  I  have  got  a  friend  to  meet  me 
there."  "  Then  ask  your  friend  to  come  and  eat  a  bit  of 
your  cold  mutton  at  night,  and  here  is  sixpence  for  another 
pot,  if  you  wnll  promise  to  brew  a  small  cask  of  your  own." 
"  Thank  you,  master,  and  so  I  will ;  and  I  won't  go  to  the 
Lion.  Come  boy,  bring  the  helm,  and  fetch  the  ladder." 
And  so  Tom  was  upon  the  roof  in  a  twinkling.  The  barn 
was  thatched,  the  mutton  bought,  the  beer  brewed,  the 
friend  invited,  and  the  holiday  enjoyed. 

THE    SHEEP-SHEARING. 

Dr.  Shepherd  happened  to  say  to  Farmer  White  one  day, 
that  there  was  nothing  that  he  disliked  more  than  the  man- 
ner in  which  sheep-shearing  and  harvest-home  were  kept 
by  some  in  his  parish.  "  What,"  said  the  good  Doctor, 
"just  when  we  are  blessed  with  a  prosperous  gathering  in 
of  these  natural  riches  of  our  land,  the  fleece  of  our  flocks  ; 
when  our  barns  are  crowned  with  plenty,  and  we  have, 
through  the  divine  blessing  on  our  honest  labor,  reaped  the 
fruits  of  the  earth  in  due  season;  is  that  very  time  to  be  set 
a] tart  for  ribaldry,  and  riot,  and  drunkenness  ?  Do  we  thank 
God  for  his  mercies,  by  making  ourselves  unworthy  and  un- 
fit to  enjoy  them  ?  When  he  crowns  the  year  with  his 
goodness,  shall  we  affront  him  by  our  impiety  ?  It  is  more 
than  a  common  insult  to  his  providence  ;  it  is  a  worse  than 
brutal  return  to  Him  who  openeth  his  hand  and  filleth  all 
things  living  with  plenteousness." 

"I  thank  you  for  the  hint,  sir,"  said  the  farmer.  "  I  am 
resolved  to  rejoice  though,  and  others  shall  rejoice  with 
me :  and  we  will  have  a  merry  night  on't," 


THE     POST     BOY.  139 

So  Mrs.  White  dressed  a  very  plentiful  supper  of  meat 
and  pudding  ;  and  spread  out  two  tables.  The  farmer  sat 
at  the  head  of  one,  consisting  of  some  of  his  neighbors,  aud 
all  his  work-people.  At  the  other  sat  his  wife,  with  two 
lono-  benches  on  each  side  of  her.  On  these  benches  sat  all 
the  old  and  infirm  poor,  especially  those  who  lived  in  the 
work-house,  and  had  no  day  of  festivity  to  look  forward  to 
in  the  whole  year  but  this.  On  the  grass,  in  the  little 
court,  sat  the  children  of  his  laborers,  and  of  the  other 
poor,  whose  employment  it  had  been  to  gather  flowers,  and 
dress  and  adorn  the  horns  of  the  ram  ;  for  the  farmer  did 
not  wish  to  put  an  end  to  an  old  custom,  if  it  was  innocent. 
His  own  children  stood  by  the  table,  and  he  gave  them 
plenty  of  pudding,  which  they  carried  to  the  children  of  the 
j>oor,  with  a  little  draught  of  cider  to  every  one.  The 
fanner,  who  never  sat  down  without  begging  a  blessing  on 
his  meal,  did  it  with  suitable  solemnity  on  the  present  joy- 
ful occasion. 

Dr.  Shepherd  practiced  one  very  useful  method,  which  I 
dare  say  was  not  peculiar  to  himself;  a  method  of  which  I 
doubt  not  other  country  clergymen  have  found  the  advan- 
tage. He  was  often  on  the  watch  to  observe  those  seasons 
when  a  number  of  his  parishioners  were  assembled  together, 
not  only  ai  any  season  of  festivity,  but  at  their  work.  He 
has  been  known  to  (urn  a  walk  through  a  hay-field  to  good 
account;  and  has  been  found  to  do  as  much  good  by  a  few 
minutes' discourse  with  a  little  knot  of  reapers,  as  by  a  Sun- 
day's sermon,  lie  commonly  introduced  his  religious  ob- 
servations by  some  questions  relating  to  their  employment ; 
he  first  gained  their  affections  by  his  kindness,  and  then 
converted  his  influence  over  them  to  their  soul's  good.  The 
interest  he  took  in  their  worldly  affairs  opened  their  hearts 
to  the  reception  of  those  divine  truths  which  he  was  always 
earnest  to  impress  upon  them.     By  these  methods  too  he 


140  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

got  acquainted  with  their  several  characters,  their  spiritual 
wants,  their  individual  sins,  dangers,  and  temptations,  which 
enabled  him  to  preach  with  more  knowledge  and  success- 
ful application,  than  those  ministers  can  do  who  are  un- 
acquainted with  the  state  of  their  congregations.  It  was  a 
remark  of  Dr.  Shepherd,  that  a  thorough  acquaintance  with 
human  nature  was  one  of  the  most  important  species  of 
knowledge  a  clergyman  could  possess. 

The  sheep-shearing  feast,  though  orderly  and  decent,  was 
yet  hearty  and  cheerful.  Dr.  Shepherd  dropped  in,  with  a 
good  deal  of  company  he  had  at  his  house,  and  they  were 
much  pleased.  When  the  Doctor  saw  how  the  aged  and 
infirm  poor  were  enjoying  themselves,  he  was  much  moved  ; 
he  shook  the  farmer  by  the  hand  and  said,  "But  thou, 
when  thou  makest  a  feast,  call  the  blind,  and  the  lame,  and 
the  halt ;  they  can  not  recompense  thee,  but  thou  slialt  be 
recompensed  at  the  resurrection  of  the  just," 

"  Sir,"  said  the  farmer,  "  'tis  no  great  matter  of  expense  ; 
I  kill  a  sheep  of  my  own ;  potatoes  are  as  plenty  as  black- 
berries, with,  people  who  have  a  little  forethought.  I  save 
much  more  cider  in  the  course  of  a  year  by  never  allowing 
any  carousing  in  my  kitchen,  or  drunkenness  in  my  fields, 
than  would  supply  many  such  feasts  as  these,  so  that  I  shall 
be  never  the  poorer  at  Christmas.  It,  is  cheaper  to  make 
people  happy,  sir,  than  to  make  them  drunk."  The  Doctor 
anil  the  ladies  condescended  to  walk  from  one  table  to  the 
other,  and  heard  many  merry  stories,  but  not  one  profane 
word,  or  one  indecent  song  :  so  that  he  was  not  forced  to  the 
painful  necessity  cither  of  reproving  them,  or  leaving  them 
in  anger.  When  all  was  over,  they  sung  the  sixty-fifth 
Psalm,  and  the  ladies  all  joined  in  it;  and  when  they  got 
home  to  the  vicarage  to  tea,  they  declared  they  liked  it 
better  than  any  concert. 


THE     POST     B  O  ?.  141 


THE    HARD    WINTER. 


In  the  famous  cold  winter  of  the  year  1795,  it  was  edi- 
fying to  see  how  patiently  Farmer  White  bore  that  long  and 
severe  frost.  Many  of  his  sheep  were  frozen  to  death,  but 
lie  thanked  God  that  he  had  still  many  left.  He  continued 
to  find  in-door  work  that  his  men  might  not  be  out  of  em- 
ploy. The  season  being  so  bad,  which  some  others  pleaded 
as  an  excuse  for  turning  off  their  workmen,  he  thought  a 
fresh  reason  for  keeping  them.  Mrs.  White  was  so  con- 
siderate, that  just  at  that  time  she  lessened  the  number  of 
her  liogs,  that  she  might  have  more  whey  and  skim-milk  to 
assist  poor  families.  Nay,  I  have  known  her  to  live  on 
boiled  meat  for  a  long  while  together,  in  a  sickly  season, 
because  the  pot  liquor  made  such  a  supply  of  broth  for  the 
sick  poor.  As  the  spring  came  on,  and  things  grew  worse, 
she  never  had  a  cake,  a  pie,  or  a  pudding  in  her  house ; 
notwithstanding  she  used  to  have  plenty  of  these  good 
things,  and  will  again,  I  hope,  when  the  present  scarcity  is 
over ;  though  she  says  she  will  never  use  such  white  flour 
again,  even  if  it  should  come  down  to  five  shillings  a  bushel. 

All  the  parish  now  began  to  murmur.  Fanner  Jones 
was  sure  the  frost  had  killed  the  wheat.  Farmer  Wilson 
said  the  rye  would  never  come  up.  Brown,  the  malstcr, 
insisted  the  barley  was  dead  at  the  root.  Butcher  Job- 
bins  said  beef  would  be  a  shilling  a  pound.  All  declared 
there  would  not  be  a  hop  to  brew  with.  The  orchards 
w.'fe  all  blighted  ;  there  would  not  be  apples  enough  to 
make  a  pie;  and  as  to  hay  there  would  be  none  to  be 
had  for  love  or  money.  "I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Fanner 
While,  "the  season  is  dreadful ;  the  crops  unpromising  just 
now;  but  'tis  too  early  to  judge.  Don't  let  us  make  things 
worse  than  they  are.  We  ought  to  comfort  the  poor,  and 
you  are  driving  them  to  despair.     Don't  you  know  how 


142  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM 

much  God  was  displeased  with  the  murmurs  of  his  chosen 
people  ?  And  yet,  when  they  were  tired  of  manna  he  sent 
them  quails;  but  all  did  not  do.  Nothing  satisfies  grum- 
blers. We  have  a  promise  on  our  side,  that  there  shall 
be  seed-time  and  harvest-time  to  the  end.  Let  us  then  hope 
for  a  good  day,  but  provide  against  an  evil  one.  Let  us 
rather  preveut  the  evil  before  it  is  come  upon  us,  than  sink 
under  it  when  it  comes.  Grumbling  can  not  help  us ;  ac- 
tivity can.  Let  us  set  about  planting  potatoes  in  every  nook 
and  corner,  in  case  the  corn  should  fail,  which,  however,  I 
don't  believe  will  be  the  case.  Let  us  mend  our  manage- 
ment  before  we  are  driven  to  it  by  actual  want.  And  if 
we  allow  our  honest  laborers  to  plant  a  few  potatoes  for 
their  families  in  the  headlands  of  our  plowed  fields,  o\ 
other  waste  bits  of  ground,  it  will  do  us  no  harm,  and  be 
a  great  help  to  them.  The  way  to  lighten  the  load  of  any 
public  calamity  is  not  to  murmur  at  it  but  put  a  hand 
to  lessen  it." 

The  farmer  had  many  temptations  to  send  his  corn  at 
an  extravagant  price  to  a  certain  seaport  toivn,  bat  as  he 
knew  that  it  was  intended  to  export  it  against  law,  he 
would  not  be  tempted  to  encourage  unlawful  gain ;  so  he 
thrashed  out  a  small  mow  at  a  time,  and  sold  it  to  the 
neighboring  poor  far  below  the  market-price.  He  served 
his  own  workmen  first.  This  was  the  same  to  them  as  if 
he  had  raised  their  wages,  and  even  better,  as  it  was  a  bene- 
fit of  which  their  families  were  sure  to  partake.  If  the  pooi 
in  the  next  parish  were  more  distressed  than  his  own,  he 
sold  them  at  the  same  rate.  For,  said  he,  there  is  no  dis- 
tortion of  parishes  in  heaven;  and  though  charity  begins 
at  home,  yet  it  ought  not  to  end  there. 

II  •  had  been  used  iii  gum!  times  now  and  then  t<>  catch 
a  hare  or  a  partridge,  as  he  was  qualified  ;  but  he  now  re- 
solved to  give  up  that  pleasure.   So  he  parted  from  a  couple 


THE     POST     BO  V.  143 

of  spaniels  he  Had  :  for  lie  said  he  could  not  hear  that  his 
dogs  should  be  eating  the  meat,  or  the  milk,  which  so  many- 
men,  women,  and  children  wanted. 

THE    WHITE    LOAF. 

One  day,  it  was  about  the  middle  of  last  July,  when 
things  seemed  to  be  at  the  dearest,  and  the  rulers  of  the 
land  had  agreed  to  set  the  example  of  eating  nothing  but 
coarse  bread,  Dr.  Shepherd  read,  before  sermon  in  the 
church,  their  public  declaration,  which  the  magistrates  of 
the  county  sent  him,  and  which  they  had  also  signed  them- 
selves. Mrs.  White,  of  course,  was  at  church,  and  com- 
mended it  mightily.  Next  morning  the  Doctor  took  a  walk 
over  to  the  farmer's,  in  order  to  settle  further  j)lans  for  the 
relief  of  the  parish.  He  was  much  surprised  to  meet  Mrs. 
"White's  little  maid,  Sally,  with  a  very  small  white  loaf, 
which  she  had  been  buying  at  a  shop.  He  said  nothing  to 
the  girl,  as  he  never  thought  it  right  to  expose  the  faults  of 
a  mistress  to  her  servants  ;  but  walked  on,  resolving  to  give 
Mrs.  White  a  severe  lecture  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  lie 
soon  changed  his  mind,  for  on  going  into  the  kitchen,  the 
first  person  he  saw  was  Tom  the  tBatcher,  who  had  had  a 
sad  fall  from  a  ladder;  his  arm,  which  was  slipped  out  of 
his  sleeve,  was  swelled  in  a  frightful  manner.  Mrs.  White 
was  standing  at  the  dresseT  making  the  liitl.-  white  loaf  in-, 
to  a  poultice,  which  she  laid  upon  the  swelling  in  a  large 
clean  old  linen  cloth. 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  my  good  Sarah,"  said  the  Doe 
"I  ought  not,  however  appearances  were  againsl  you,  to 
have  suspected   thai    so  humble  and  prudent  a  woman  as 
you  are,  would  !>•■  I'd  either  t<>  indulge  any  daintiness  of 
your  own,  or  to  fly  in  the  face  of  your   I  ,  by  eating 

white  bread   while  they  are  eating  brown.     Whenever  1 
come  here,  I  sec  it  is  not  needful  to  be  rich  in  order  to  be 


144  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

charitable.  A  bountiful  rich  man  would  have  scut  Tom  to 
a  surgeon,  who  would  have  done  no  more  for  hi  in  than  you 
have  done;  for  in  those  inflammations  the  most  skillful 
surgeon  could  only  apply  a  poultice.  Your  kinduess  in 
dressing  the  wound  yourself,  will,  I  doubt  not,  perform  the 
cure  at  the  exj^ense  of  that  threepenny  loaf  and  a  little 
hoo-'s  lard.  And  I  will  take  care  that  Tom  shall  have  a 
good  supply  of  rice  from  the  subscription."  "And  he 
sha'n't  want  for  skim-milk,"  said  Mrs.  White ;  "  and  was 
he  the  best  lord  in  the  land,  in  the  state  he  is  in,  a  dish  of 
irood  rice  milk  would  be  better  for  him  than  the  richest 
meat." 

THE    PARISH    MEETING. 

On  the  tenth  of  August,  the  vestry  held  another  meet- 
ing, to  consult  on  the  best  method  of  further  assisting  the 
poor.  The  prospect  of  abundant  crops  now  cheered  every 
heart.  Farmer  White,  who  had  a  mind  to  be  a  little  jocu- 
lar with  his  desponding  neighbors,  said,  "  Well,  neighbor 
Jones,  all  the  wheat  was  killed,  I  suppose  !  the  barley  is  all 
dead  at  the  root!"  Farmer  Jones  looked  sheepish,  and 
said,  "  To  be  sure  the  crops  had  turned  out  better  than  he 
thought."  "  Then,"  said  Dr.  Shepherd,  "  let  ns  learn  to 
trust  Providence  another  time ;  let  our  experience  of  his 
past  goodness  strengthen  our  faith." 

Among  other  things,  they  agreed  to  subscribe  tor  a  Large 
quantity  of  rice,  which  was  to  be  sold  out  to  the  poor  at  a 
very  low  price,  and  Mrs.  White  was  so  kind  as  to  undertake 
the  trouble  of  selling  it.  After  their  day's  work  was  over, 
all  who  wished  to  buy  at  these  reduced  rates,  were  ordered 
to  come  to  the  farm  on  the  Tuesday  evening.  Dr.  Shep- 
herd dropped  in  at  the  same  time,  and  wheu  Mrs.  White 
had  done  weighing  her  rice,  the  Doctor  spoke  as  follows  : 

"My  honest  friends,  it  has  pleased  God,  for  some  wise 
end,  to  visit  this  land  with  a  scarcity,  to  which  we  have 


THE     POST     BOY.  145 

• 

been  but  little  accustomed.  There  are  some  idle,  evil- 
minded  people,  who  are  on  the  watch  for  the  public  dis- 
tresses ;  not  that  they  may  humble  themselves  under  the 
mighty  hand  of  God  (which  is  the  true  use  to  be  made  of 
all  troubles)  but  that  they  may  benefit  themselves  by  dis- 
turbing- the  public  peace.  These  people,  by  riot  and  drunk- 
enness, double  the  evil  which  they  pretend  to  cure.  Riot 
will  complete  our  misfortunes;  while  peace,  industry,  and 
good  management,  will  go  near  to  cure  them.  Bread,  to 
be  sure,  is  uncommonly  dear.  Among  the  various  ways  of 
making  it  cheaper,  one  is  to  reduce  the  quality  of  it,  an- 
other to  lessen  the  quantity  we  consume.  If  we  can  not 
get  enough  of  co  irse  ftheaten  bread,  let  us  make  it  of  other 
grain.  Or  let  us  mix  one  half  of  potatoes,  and  one  half 
of  wheat.  This  last  is  what  I  eat  in  my  own  family  ;  it  is 
pleasant  and  wholesome.  Our  blessed  Saviour  ate  barley- 
bread,  you  know,  as  we  are  told  in  the  last  month's  Sunday 
reading  of  the  Cheap  Repository,*  which  I  hope  you  have 
all  heard,  as  I  desired  the  master  of  the  Sunday  School  to 
re, id  it  just  after  evening  service,  when  I  know  many  of  the 
parents  are  apt  to  call  in  at  the  school.  This  is  a  good 
custom,  and  one  of  those  little  books  shall  be  often  read  at 
that  time. 

"  My  good  women,  I  truly  feel  for  you  at  this  time  of 
scarcity;  and  I  am  going  to  show  my  good  will,  as  much 
by  my  advice  as  my  subscription.  It  is  my  duty,  as  your 
friend  and  minister,  to  it'll  you  that  one  half  of  your  present 
hardships  is  owing  to  bad  management.  I  often  meet  your 
children  without  shoes  and  stockings,  with  great  luncheons 
of  the  very  whitest  bread,  and  that  three  times  a  day. 
Ealf  that  quantity,  and  still  less  if  it  were  coarse,  pat  into 
a  dish  of  good  onion  or  leefc   porridge,  would  make  th.au 

*  Seo  Cheap  Eti  positoiy,  Tract  on  tho  Scarcity,  printed  for  T. 
Evans,  Long-lano,  West  Smithfield,  London. 

7 


146  TIIE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

an  excellent  breakfast.  Many  too,  of  the  very  poorest  of 
you,  eat  your  bread  hot  from  the  oven ;  this  makes  the  dif- 
ference of  one  loaf  in  five  ;  I  assure  you  'tis  what  I  can  not 
afford  to  do.  Come,  Mrs.  White,  you  must  assist  me  a 
little.  I  am  not  very  knowing  in  these  matters  myself;  but 
I  know  that  the  rich  would  be  twice  as  charitable  as  they 
are,  if  the  poor  made  a  better  use  of  their  bounty.  Mrs. 
White,  do  give  these  poor  women  a  little  advice  how  to 
make  their  pittance  go  further  than  it  now  does.  When 
you  lived  with  me  you  were  famous  for  making  us  nice 
cheap  dishes,  and  I  dare  say  you  are  not  less  notable,  now 
you  manage  for  yourself." 

"Indeed,  neighbors,"  said  Mrs.  White,  "what  the  good 
Doctor  says  is  very  true.  A  halfpenny  worth  of  oatmeal, 
or  groats,  with  a  leek  or  onion,  out  of  your  own  garden, 
which  costs  nothing,  a  bit  of  salt,  and  a  little  coarse  bread, 
will  breakfast  your  whole  family.  It  is  a  great  mistake  at 
any  time  to  think  a  bit  of  meat  is  so  ruinous,  and  a  great 
load  of  bread  so  cheap.  A  poor  man  gets  seven  or  eight 
shillings  a  week :  if  he  is  careful  he  brings  it  home.  I  dare 
not  say  how  much  of  this  goes  for  tea  in  the  afternoon, 
now  sugar  and  butter  are  so  dear,  because  I  should  have 
you  all  upon  me ;  but  I  will  say,  that  too  much  of  this  little 
goes  even  for  bread,  from  a  mistaken  notion  that  it  is  the 
hardest  fare.  This,  at  all  times,  but  particularly  just  now, 
is  bad  management.  Dry  peas,  to  be  sure,  have  been  very 
dear  lately,  but  now  they  are  plenty  enough.  I  am  certain 
then,  that  if  a  shilling  or  two  of  the  seven  or  eicdit  was  laid 
out  for  a  bit  of  coarse  beef,  a  sheep's  heal,  or  any  such 
thing,  it  would  be  well  bestowed.  I  would  throw  a  couple 
of  pounds  of  this  into  the  pot,  with  two  or  three  handsful 
of  gray  peas,  an  onion,  and  a  little  pepper.  Then  I  would 
throw  in  cabbage,  or  turnip,  and  carrot ;  or  any  garden 
stuff  that  was  most  plenty;  let  it  stew  two  or  three  hours, 


THE     POST     BOY.  14 


H 


and  it  will  make  a  dish  fit  for  his  majesty.  The  working 
men  should  have  the  meat ;  the  children  don't  want  it : 
the  soup  will  be  thick  and  substantial,  and  requires  no 
bread. 

RICE    MILK. 

"  You  who  can  get  skim-milk,  as  all  our  workmen  can, 
have  a  great  advantage.  A  quart  of  this,  and  a  quarter  of 
a  pound  of  rice  you  have  just  bought,  a  little  bit  of 
alspice,  and  brown  sugar,  will  make  a  dainty  and  cheap 
dish." 

"  Bless  your  heart !"  muttered  Amy  Grumble,  who  looked 
as  dirty  as  a  cinder-wench,  with  her  face  and  fingers  all 
daubed  with  snuff:  "rice  milk,  indeed !  it  is  very  nice  to 
be  sure  for  those  that  can  dress  it,  but  we  have  not  a  bit 
of  coal;  rice  is  no  use  to  us  without  firing;"  "and  yet," 
said  the  Doctor,  "  I  see  your  tea-kettle  boiling  twice  every 
day,  as  I  pass  by  the  poor-house,  and  fresh  butter  at  thir- 
teen-pence  a  pound  on  your  shelf."  "  Oh,  dear  sir,"  cried 
Amy,  "  a  few  sticks  serve  to  boil  the  tea-kettle."  "  And  a 
few  more,"  said  the  Doctor,  "will  boil  the  rice  milk,  and 
give  twice  the  nourishment  at  a  quarter  of  the  expense." 

RICK    PUDDING. 

"Pray,  Sarah,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  how  did  you  use  to 
make  that  pudding  my  children  were  so  fond  of?  And  I 
remember,  when  it  was  cold,  we  used  to  have  it  in  the  par- 
lor for  supper."  "Nothing  more  easy,"  said  Mrs.  White: 
"I  put  half  a  pound  of  rice,  two  quarts  of  skim-milk,  and 
two  ounces  of  brown  sugar."  "Well,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"and  how  many  will  this  dim1.''"  "Seven  or  eight,  sir." 
"Very  well,  and  what  will  it  rust  .'"  "  Why,  sir,  it  did  not 
cost  you  so  much,  because  we  baked  at  home,  and  1  used 
our  own  milk;  hut  it  will  not  cost  above  seven-pence  tc 
those  who  pay  for  both.     Ilere,  too,  bread  is  saved." 


148  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM 

"  Pray,  Sarah,  let  me  put  in  a  word,"  said  Farmer  White  : 
"  I  advise  my  men  to  raise  each  a  large  bed  of  parsnips. 
They  are  very  nourishing,  and  very  profitable.  Sixpenny 
worth  of  seed,  well  sowed  and  trod  in,  will  produce  more 
meals  than  four  sacks  of  potatoes  ;  and,  what  is  material  to 
you  who  have  so  little  ground,  it  will  not  require  more  than 
an  eighth  part  of  the  ground  which  the  four  sacks  will  take. 
Providence  having  contrived  by  the  very  formation  of  this 
root  that  it  shall  occupy  but  a  very  small  space.  Parsnips 
are  very  good  the  second  day  warmed  in  the  frying  pan, 
and  a  little  rasher  of  pork,  or  bacon,  will  give  them  a  nice 
flavor." 

Dr.  Shepherd  now  said,  "  As  a  proof  of  the  nourishing 
quality  of  parsnips,  I  was  reading  in  a  history  book  this 
very  day,  that  the  American  Indians  make  a  great  part  of 
their  bread  of  parsnips,  though  Indian  corn  is  so  famous ; 
it  will  make  a  little  variety  too." 

A    CHEAP    STEW. 

"  I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  White,  "  a  cheap  dish,  so  nice 
that  it  makes  my  mouth  water.  I  peel  some  raw  potatoes, 
slice  them  thin,  put  the  slices  into  a  deep  frying-pan,  or 
pot  with  a  little  water,  an  onion,  and  a  bit  of  pepper. 
Then  I  get  a  bone  or  two  of  a  breast  of  mutton,  or  a  little 
strip  of  salt  pork  and  put  into  it.  Cover  it  down  close, 
keep  in  the  steam,  and  let  it  stew  for  an  hour." 

"  You  really  give  me  an  appetite,  Mrs.  White,  by  your 
dainty  receipts,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  I  am  resolved  to  have 
this  dish  at  my  own  table."  "  I  could  tell  you  another  very 
good  dish,  and  still  cheaper,"  answered  she.  "  Come,  let 
us  have  it,"  cried  the  Doctor.  "  I  shall  write  all  down  as 
soon  as  I  get  home,  and  I  will  favor  any  body  with  a  copy 
of  these  receipts  who  will  call  at  my  house."  ''And  I  will 
do  more,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  White,  "  for  I  will  put  any  of  these 


THE     POST     BOT.  149 

women  in  the  way  how  to  dress  it  the  first  time,  if  they  are 
at  a  loss.     But  this  is  my  dish  : 

"Take  two  or  three  pickled  herrings,  put  them  into  a 
stone  jar,  fill  it  up  with  potatoes,  and  a  little  water,  and  let  it 
bake  in  the  oven  till  it  is  done.  I  would  give  one  hint  more," 
added  she  ;  "I  have  taken  to  use  nothing  but  potatoe  starch  ; 
and  though  I  say  it,  that  should  not  say  it,  nobody's  linen 
in  a  common  way  looks  better  than  ours." 

The  Doctor  now  said,  "  I  am  sorry  for  one  hardship  which 
many  poor  people  labor  under :  I  mean  the  difficulty  of 
getting  a  little  milk.  I  wish  all  the  farmers'  wives  were  as 
considerate  as  you  are,  Mrs.  White.  A  little  milk  is  a 
great  comfort  to  the  poor,  especially  when  their  chil- 
dren are  sick;  and  I  have  known  it  answer  to  the  seller 
as  well  as  to  the  buyer,  to  keep  a  cow  or  two  on  purpose 
to  sell  it  by  the  quart,  instead  of  making  butter  and 
cheese. 

"  Sir,"  said  Farmer  White,  "  I  beg  leave  to  say  a  word  to 
the  men,  if  you  please,  for  all  your  advice  goes  to  the  wo- 
men. If  you  will  drink  less  gin,  you  may  get  more  meat. 
If  you  abstain  from  the  ale-house,  you  may,  many  of  3-011, 
get  a  little  one-way  beer  at  home."  "Ay,  that  we  can, 
farmer,"  said  poor  'fun,  the  thatcher,  who  was  now  got 
well.  "Easter  Monday  for  that — I  say  no  more.  A  word 
to  the  wise."  The  farmer  smiled  and  went  on  :  "  The  num- 
ber of  public  houses  in  many  a  parish,  brings  on  more  hun- 
ger and  rags  than  all  the  taxes  in  il,  heavy  as  they  are.  All 
the  other  evils  put  together  hardly  make  up  the  sum  of  that 
one.  We  are  now  making  a  fresh  subscription  for  you. 
This  will  be  our  rule  of  giving:  We  will  not  give  to  sots, 
gamblers,  and  Sabbath-breakers.  Those  who  do  not  set 
their  young  children  to  work  on  week-days,  and  send  them 
to  school  and  church  on  Sundays,  deserve  little  favor.  No 
man  should  keep  a  dog  till  he  has  more  food  than  his  fam- 


150  THE     HISTORY     OF     TOM     WHITE, 

ily  wants.  If  be  feeds  them  at  home,  they  rob  bis  children  ; 
if  he  starves  them,  they  rob  bis  neighbors.  We  have  heard 
in  a  neighboring  city,  that  some  people  earned  back  the 
subscription  loaves,  because  they  were  too  coarse;  but  we 
hope  better  things  of  you."  Here  Betty  Plane  begged, 
with  all  humility,  to  put  in  a  word.  "  Certainly,"  said  the 
Doctor,  "  we  will  listeu  to  all  modest  complaints,  and  try  to 
redress  them."  "You  are  pleased  to  say,  sir,"  said  she, 
"  that  we  might  find  much  comfort  from  buying  coarse  bits 
of  beef.  And  so  we  might ;  but  you  do  not  know,  sir,  that 
we  could  seldom  get  them,  even  when  we  had  the  money, 
and  times  were  so  bad."  "  How  so,.  Betty  ?"  "Sir,  when 
We  go  to  Butcher  Jobbins  for  a  bit  of  shin,  or  any  other  lean 
piece,  his  answer  is,  '  You  can't  have  it  to-day.  The  cook 
at  the  great  house  has  bespoke  it  for  gravy,  or  the  Docto  's 
maid  (begging  your  pardon,  sir,)  has  just  ordered  it  for 
sou]).'  Now,  if  such  kind  gentlefolk  were  aware  that  this 
gravy  and  soup  not  only  consume  a  great  deal  of  meat — 
which,  to  be  sure,  those  have^a  right  to  do  who  can  pay  for 
it — but  that  it  takes  away  those  coarse  pieces  which  the 
poor  would  I  uy,  if  they  bought  at  all.  For,  indeed,  the 
rich  have  bee:i  very  kind,  and  I  don't  know  what  Ave  should 
have  done  without  them." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  bint,  Betty,"  said  the  Doctor,  and  I 
assure  you  I  will  have  no  more  gravy  soup.  My  garden 
will  supply  me  with  soups  that  are  both  wholesomer  and 
better ;  and  I  will  answer  for  my  lady  at  the  great  house, 
that  she  will  do  the  same.  I  hope  this  will  become  a  gen- 
eral rule,  and  then  Ave  shall  expect  that  butchers  will  favor 
you  in  the  prices  of  the  coarse  pieces,  if  we  who  are  rich, 
buy  nothing  but  the  prime.  In  our  gifts  Ave  shall  prefer,  as 
the  farmer  has  told  you,  those  who  keep  steadily  to  their 
work.  Such  as  come  to  the  vestry  for  a  loaf,  and  do  not 
come  to  church  for  the  sermon,  we  shall  mark;  and. prefer 


THE     POST     BO!.  151 

those  who  come  constantly,  whether  there  are  any  gifts  or 
not.  But  there  is  one  rule  from  which  we  never  will  de- 
part. Those  who  have  been  seen  aiding  or  abetting  any 
riot,  any  attack  on  butchers,  bakers,  wheat-mows,  mills,  or 
millers,  we  will  not  relieve;  but  with  the  quiet,  contented, 
hard-working  man,  I  will  share  my  last  morsel  of  bread.  I 
shall  only  add,  though  it  has  pleased  God  to  send  us  this 
visitation  as  a  punishment,  yet  we  may  convert  this  short 
trial  into  a  lasting  blessing,  if  we  all  turn  over  a  new  leaf. 
Prosperity  has  made  most  of  us  careless.  The  thoughtless 
profusion  of  some  of  the  rich  could  only  be  exceeded  by  the 
idleness  and  bad  management  of  some  of  the  poor.  Let  us 
now  at  last  adopt  that  good  old  maxim,  every  one  mend  one. 
And  may  God  add  his  blessing." 

The  people  now  cheerfully  departed  with  their  rice,  re- 
solving, as  many  of  them  as  could  get  milk,  to  put  one  of 
Mrs.  White's  receipts  in  practice,  and  an  excellent  supper 
they  had. 


THE    SUNDAY   SCHOOL 


I  promised,  in  the  Cure  for  Melancholy,  to  give  some 
account  of  the  manner  in  which  Mrs.  Jones  set  up  her 
school.  She  did  not  much  fear  being  able  to  raise  the 
money ;  but  money  is  of  little  use,  unless  some  persons  of 
sense  and  piety  can  be  found  to  direct  these  institutions. 
Not  that  I  would  discourage  those  who  set  them  up,  even  in 
the  most  ordinary  manner,  and  from  mere  views  of  worldly 
policy.  It  is  something  gained  to  rescue  children  from 
idling  away  their  Sabbaths  in  the  fields  or  the  streets.  It  is 
no  small  thing  to  keep  them  from  those  to  which  a  day  of 
leisure  tempts  the  idle  and  the  ignorant.  It  is  something 
for  them  to  be  taught  to  read  ;  it  is  much  to  be  taught  to 
read  the  Bible,  and  much,  indeed,  to  be  carried  regularly  to 
church.  But  all  this  is  not  enough.  To  brinff  these  insti- 
tutions  to  answer  their  highest  end,  can  only  be  effected  by 
God's  blessing  on  the  best  directed  means,  the  choice  of 
able  teachers,  and  a  diligent  attention  in  some  pious  gentry 
to  visit  and  inspect  the  schools. 

ON    RECOMMENDATIONS. 

Mrs.  Jones  had  one  talent  that  eminently  qualified  her 

to  do  good,  namely,  judgment ;  this,  even  in  the  gay  part  of 
her  life,  had  kept  her  from  many  mistakes  ;  but  though  she 
had  sometimes  been  deceived  herself,  she  was  very  careful 
not  to  deceive  others,  by  recommending  people  to  fill  any 
office  for  which  they  were  unlit,  either  through  selfishness 


1HE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL.  155 

or  false  kindness.  She  used  to  say,  there  is  always  some  one 
appropriate  qualify  which  every  person  must  possess  in  or- 
der to  fit  them  for  any  particular  employment.  "  Even  in 
this  quality,"  said  she  to  Mr.  Simpson,  the  clergyman,  "  I 
do  not  expect  perfection  ;  but  if  they  are  destitute  of  this, 
whatever  good  qualities  they  may  possess  besides,  though 
they  may  do  for  some  other  employment,  they  will  not  do 
for  this.  If  I  want  a  pair  of  shoes,  I  go  to  a  shoemaker ; 
I  do  not  go  to  a  man  of  another  trade,  however  ingenious 
he  may  be,  to  ask  him  if  he  can  not  contrive  to  make  me  a 
pair  of  shoes.  When  I  lived  in  London,  I  learned  to  be 
much  on  my  guard  as  to  recommendations.  I  found  people 
often  wanted  to  impose  on  me  some  one  who  was  a  burden 
to  themselves.  Once,  I  remember,  when  I  undertook  to  get 
a  matron  for  a'  hospital,  half  my  acquaintance  had  some 
one  to  offer  me.  Mrs.  Gibson  sent  me  an  old  cook,  whom 
she  herself  had  discharged  for  wasting  her  own  provisions; 
yet  she  had  the  conscience  to  recommend  this  woman  to 
take  care  of  the  provisions  of  a  large  community.  Mrs. 
Gray  sent  me  a  discarded  housekeeper,  whose  constitution 
had  been  ruined  by  sitting  up  with  Mrs.  Gray's  gouty  hus- 
band, but  who  she  yet  thought  might  do  well  enough  to 
undergo  the  fatigue  of  taking  care  of  a  hundred  poor  sick 
people.  A  third  friend  sent  me  a  woman  who  had  no  merit 
but  that  of  being  very  poor,  and  it  would  be  charity  to 
provide  for  her.  The  truth  is,  the  lady  was  obliged  to 
allow  her  a  small  pension  till  she  could  get  her  off  her  own 
hands,  by  turning  her  on  those  of  others." 

"It  is  wevy  true,  madam,"  Baid  Mr.  Simpson  ;  "the  right 
way  is  always  to  prefer  the  good  of  the  many  to  the  good 
of  one  ;  if,  indeed,  it  can  he  called,  doing  good  to  any  one 
to  place  them  in  a  station  in  which  they  must  feel  un- 
happy, by  not  knowing  how  to  discharge  the  duties  of  it. 
I  will  tell  you  how  I  manage.     If  the  persons  recommended 


154  TIIE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL. 

are  objects  of  charity,  I  privately  subscribe  to  their  wants; 
I  pity  and  help  them,  but  I  never  promote  them  to  a  station 
for  which  they  are  unfit,  as  I  should  by  so  doing  hurt  a 
whole  community  to  help  a  distressed  individual." 

Thus  Mrs.  Jones  resolved  that  the  first  step  toward  setting 
up  her  school  should  be  to  provide  a  suitable  mistress.  The 
vestry  were  so  earnest  in  recommending  one  woman,  that 
she  thought  it  worth  looking  into.  On  inquiry,  she  found 
it  was  a  scheme  to  take  a  large  family  off  the  parish  ;  they 
n«ver  considered  that  a  very  ignorant  woman,  with  a  family 
of  young  children,  was,  of  all  others,  the  most  unfit  for  a 
school,  all  they  considered  was,  that  the  profits  of  the 
school  might  enable  her  to  live  without  parish  pay.  Mrs. 
Jones  refused  another,  though  she  could  read  well,  and  was 
decent  in  her  conduct,  because  she  used  to  send  her  children 
to  the  shop  on  Sundays.  And  she  objected  to  a  third,  a 
very  sensible  woman,  because  she  was  suspected  of  making 
an  outward  profession  of  religion  a  cloak  for  immoral  con- 
duet.  Mrs.  Jones  knew  she  must  not  be  too  nice,  neither; 
she  knew  she  must  put  up  with  many  faults  at  last.  "I 
know,"  said  she  to  Mr.  Simpson,  "  the  imperfection  of  every 
thinff  that  is  human.  As  the  mistress  will  have  much  to 
bear  with  from  the  children,  so  I  expect  to  have  something 
to  bear  with  in  the  mistress  ;  and  she  and  I  must  submit  to 
our  respective  trials,  by  thinking  how  much  God  has  to 
bear  with  in  us  all.  But  there  are  certain  qualities  which 
are  indispensable  in  certain  situations.  There  are,  in  par- 
ticular,  three  things  which  a  good  school-mistress  must  not 
be  without:  good  sense,  activity,  and  piety.  Without  the 
first,  she  will  mislead  others;  without  the  second,  she  will 
neglect  them  ;  and  without  the  third,  though  she  may  civ 
ilize,  vet  she  will  never  christianize  them." 

Mr.  Simpson  said,  "  He  really  knew  but  of  one  person  in 
the  parish  who  was  fully  likely  to  answer  her   purpose  : 


THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL.  155 

this,"  continued  he,  "  is  no  other  than  my  housekeeper,  Mrs. 
Betty  Crew.  It  will  indeed  be  a  great  loss  to  me  to  part 
from  her ;  and  to  her  it  will  be  a  far  more  fatiguing  life 
than  that  which  she  at  present  leads.  But  ought  I  to  put 
my  own  personal  comfort,  or  ought  Betty  to  put  her  own 
ease  and  quiet,  in  competition  with  the  good  of  above  a 
hundred  children  ?  This  will  appear  still  more  important, 
if  Ave  consider  the  good  done  by  these  institutions,  not  as 
fruit,  but  seed ;  if  we  take  into  the  account  how  many 
yet  unborn  may  become  Christians,  in  consequence  of  our 
making  these  children  Christians  ;  for,  how  can  we  calcu- 
late the  number  which  may  be  hereafter  trained  for  hea- 
ven by  those  very  children  we  are  going  to  teach,  when 
they  themselves  shall  become  parents,  and  you  and  I  are 
dead  and  forgotten  ?  To  be  sure,  by  parting  from  Betty,  my 
j)eas-soup  will  not  be  quite  so  well-flavored,  nor  my  linen 
so  neatly  got  up;  but  the  day  is  fast  approaching,  when 
all  this  will  signify  but  little;  but  it  will  not  signify  little 
whether  one  hundred  immortal  souls  were  the  better  for  my 
making  this  petty  sacrifice.  Mrs.  Crew  is  a  real  Christian, 
has  excellent  sense,  and  had  a  good  education  from  my 
mother.  She  has  also  had  a  little  sort  of  preparatory  train- 
ing for  the  business ;  for,  when  the  poor  children  come  to 
the  parsonage  for  broth  on  a  Saturday  evening,  she  is  used 
to  appoint  them  all  to  come  at  the  same  time ;  and,  after 
she  has  filled  their  pitchers,  she  ranges  them  round  her  in 
the  garden,  and  examines  them  in  their  catechism.  She 
is  just  and  fair  in  dealing  out  the  broth  and  beef,  not  mak- 
ing my  favor  to  the  parents  depend  on  the  skill  of  their 
children;  but  her  own  old  caps  and  ribands,  -md  cast-off" 
clothes,  are  bestowed  as  little  rewards  on  the  best  scholars. 
So  that,  taking  the  time  she  spends  in  working  for  them, 
and  the  things  she  gives  them,  there  is  many  a  lady  who 
does  not  exceed  Mrs.  Crew  in  acts  of   charitv.      This  I 


156  THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL. 

mention  to  confirm  your  notion,  that  it  is  not  necessary 
to  be  rich  in  order  to  do  good  ;  a  religious  upper  servant 
has  great  opportunities  of  this  sort,  if  the  master  is  dis- 
posed to  encourage  her.'" 

My  readers,  I  trust,  need  not  be  informed,  that  this  is 
that  very  Mrs.  Betty  Crew  who  assisted  Mrs.  Jones  in 
teaching  poor  women  to  cut  out  linen  and  dress  cheap 
dishes,  as  related  in  the  Cure  for  Melancholy.  Mrs.  Jones, 
in  the  following  week,  got  together  as  many  of  the  mothers 
as  she  could,  and  spoke  to  them  as  follows  : 

mrs.  jones's  exhortation. 

"  My  good  women,  on  Sunday  next  I  propose  to  open  a 
school  for  the  instruction  of  your  children.  Those  among 
you  who  know  what  it  is  to  be  able  to  read  your  Bible, 
will,  I  doubt  not,  rejoice  that  the  same  blessing  is  held  out 
to  your  children.  You  who  are  notable  yourselves  to 
read  what  your  Saviour  has  done  and  suffered  for  you, 
ought  to  be  doubly  anxious  that  your  children  should  reap 
a  blessing  which  you  have  lost.  Would  not  that  mother 
be  thought  an  unnatural  monster  who  would  stand  by  and 
snatch  out  of  her  child's  mouth  the  bread  which  a  kind 
friend  had  just  put  into  it?  But  such  a  mother  would  be 
merciful,  compared  with  her  who  should  rob  her  children 
of  the  opportunity  of  learning  to  read  the  word  of  God 
when  it  is  held  out  to  them.  Remember,  that  if  you  slight 
the  present  offer,  or  if,  alter  having  sent  your  children  a  few 
times  you  should  afterward  keep  them  at  home  under  vain 
pretenses,  you  will  have  to  answer  for  it  at  the  day  of  judg- 
ment. Let  not  your  poor  children,  then,  have  cause  to  say, 
'My  fond  mother  was  my  worst  enemy.  I  might  have  been 
bred  up  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  ami  she  opposed  it  for  the 
sake  of  giving  me  a  little  paltry  pleasure,  For  an  idle 
holiday,  I  Sm  now  brought  to  the  gates  of  hell !'     My  dear 


THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL.  157 

women,  which  of  you  could  bear  to  see  your  darling  child 
condemned  to  everlasting  destruction  ?  Which  of  vou  could 
bear  to  bear  him  accuse  you  as  the  cause  of  it?  Is  there 
any  mother  here  present,  who  will  venture  to  say,  '  I  will 
doom  the  children  I  bore  to  sin  and  bell,  rather  than  put 
them  or  myself  to  a  little  present  pain,  by  curtailing  their  evil 
inclinations!  I  will  let  them  spend  the  Sabbath  in  ignor- 
ance and  idleness,  instead  of  rescuing  them  from  vanity  and 
sin,  by  sending  them  to  school  V  If  there  are  any  such  here, 
present,  let  that  mother  who  values  her  child's  pleasure 
more  than  bis  soul,  now  walk  away,  while  I  set  down  in 
my  list  the  names  of  all  those  who  wish  to  bring  their 
young  ones  up  in  the  way  that  leads  to  eternal  life,  instead 
of  indulging  them  in  the  pleasures  of  sin,  which  are  but  for 
a  moment." 

When  Mrs.  Jones  had  done  speaking,  most  of  tl  e  women 
thanked  her  for  her  good  advice,  and  hoped  that  God  would 
give  them  grace  to  follow  it;  promising  to  send  their 
children  constantly.  Others,  who  were  not  so  well-dispose  I, 
were  yet  afraid  to  refuse,  after  the  sin  of  so  doing  bad  ben 
so  plainly  *se1  before  them.  The  worst  of  the  women  had 
b  |  i  away  from  this  meeting,  resolving  to  set  their  faces 
against  the  school.  Most  of  those  also  who  were  present, 
as  soon  as  they  got  home;  sel  about  providing  their  children 
with  what  little  decent  apparel  they  could  raise.  Many  a 
willing  mother  lent  her  tall  daughter  her  hat,  besl  cap,  and 
white  handkerchief;  and  many  a  grateful  father  spared  his 
linen  waistcoat  and  bettermost  bat,  to  induce  his  grown  up 
son  to  attend;  for  it  is  ;i  rule  with  which  Mrs.  Jones  be 
that  she  would  not  receive  the  younger  children  out  of  any 
family  who  did  not  <v\\>\  tin  ir  elder  ones.  Too  many  made 
excuses  that  their  shoes  were  old,  or  their  hat  worn  out. 
But  Mrs.  Jones  told  them  not  to  bring  any  excuse  to  her 
which  they  could  not  bring  to  the  day  of  judgment  ;   and 


158  THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL. 

among  those  excuses  she  would  hardly  admit  any  except 
accidents,  sickness  or  attendance  on  sick  parents  or  young 

children. 

SUBSCRIPTIONS. 

Mrs.  Jones,  who  had  secured  large  subscriptions  from  the 
*(*itry,  was  desirous  of  getting  the  help  and  countenance 
of  the  farmers  and  trades-people,  whose  duty  and  interest 
she  thought  it  was  to  support  a  plan  calculated  to  improve 
the  virtue  and  happiness  of  the  parish.  Most  of  them  sub- 
scribed, and  promised  to  see  that  their  workmen  sent  their 
children.  She  met  with  little  opposition  till  she  called  on 
farmer  Hoskins.  She  told  him,  as  he  was  the  richest  farmer 
in  the  parish,  she  came  to  him  for  a  handsome  subscription. 
"  Subscription  !"  said  he,  "  it  is  nothing  but  subscriptions, 
I  think ;  a  man,  had  need  be  made  of  money."  "  Farmer," 
said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  God  has  blessed  you  with  abundant 
prosperity,  and  he  expects  you  should  be  liberal  in  propor- 
tion to  your  great  ability."  "  I  do  not  know  what  you 
mean  by  blessing,"  said  he :  "I  have  been  up  early  and 
late,  lived  hard  while  I  had  little,  and  now  when  I  thought 
I  had  got  forward  in  the  world,  what  with  tithes  taxes,  and 
subscriptions,  it  all  goes,  I  think."  "Mr.  Hoskins,"  said 
Mrs.  Jones,  "  as  to  tithes  and  taxes,  you  well  know  that  the 
richer  you  are  the  more  you  pay ;  so  that  your  murmurs 
are  a  proof  of  your  wealth.  This  is  but  an  ungrateful  return 
for  all  your  blessings."  "  You  are  again  at  your  blessings," 
said  the  farmer ;  "  but  let  every  one  work  as  hard  as  I  have 
done,  and  I  dare  say  he  will  do  as  well.  It  is  to  my  own 
industry  I  owe  what  I  have.  My  crops  have  been  good, 
because  I  minded  my  plowing  and  sowing."  "  O  farmer  !" 
cried  Mrs.  Jones,  "  you  forget  whose  suns  and  showers  make 
your  crops  to  grow,  and  who  it  is  that  giveth  strength  to 
get  riches.     But  I  do  not  come  to  preach,  but  to  beg." 

"Well,  madam,  what  is  the  subscription  now?     Flannel 


THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL.  159 

or  French  1  op  weavers,  or  Swiss,  or  a  new  church,  or  laige 
bread,  or  cheap  rice  ?  or  what  other  new  whim-wham  for 
getting  the  money  out  of  one's  pocket?"  "  I  am  going  to 
establish  a  Sunday  School,  farmer;  and  I  come  to  you  as 
one  of  the  principal  inhabitants  of  the  parish,  hoping  your 
example  will  spur  on  the  rest  to  give."  "  Why,  then,"  said 
the  farmer,  "  as  one  of  the  principal  inhabitants  of  the 
parish,  I  will  give  nothing;  hoping  it  will  spur  on  the  rest 
to  refuse.  Of  all  the  foolish  inventions,  and  new  fangled 
devices  to  ruin  the  country,  that  of  teaching  the  poor  to 
read  is  the  very  worst."  "  And  I,  farmer,  think  that  to 
teach  good  principles  to  the  lower  classes,  is  the  most  likely 
way  to  save  the  country.  Now,  in  order  to  this,  we  must 
teach  them  to  read."  "  Not  with  my  consent,  nor  my 
money,"  said  the  farmer  ;  "  for  I  know  it  always  does  more 
harm  than  good."  "So  it  may,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "if  you 
only  teach  them  to  read,  and  then  turn  them  adrift  to  find 
out  books  for  themselves.*  There  is  a  proneness  in  the 
heart  to  evil,  which  it  is  our  duty  to  oppose,  and  which  I 
see  you  are  promoting.  Ouly  look  round  your  own  kit- 
chen ;  I  am  ashamed  to  see  it  hung  round  with  loose  songs 
and  ballads.  1  grant,  indeed,  it  would  be  better  for  young 
men  and  maids,  and  even  your  daughters,  not  to  be  able  to 
read  at  all,  than  to  read  such  stuff  as  this.  But  if,  when 
they  ask  for  bread,  you  will  give  them  a  stone,  nay 
worse,  a  serpen!,  yours  is  the  blame."  Then  taking  up  a 
penny-book    which    had   a  very  loose  title,   she  went  .on: 

*  It  was  this  consideration  chiefly,  which  stimulated  the  con- 
ductors of  the  Cheap  Eti  pository  to  send  forth  that  variety  of  little 
books  so  peculiarly  suite  I  io  the  young.      They  considered  thai  by 
means  of  Sunday  S  shools,  multitudes  were  now  taught  to  read,  v. 
would  be  irrupted  by  all  the  ribaldry  and  profane- 

ness  of  1  vicious  stories,  lly  by  the  new  influx 

of  corruption  arising  from  jacobinial  and  atheistical  pamphlets,  and 
that  it  was  a  bounden  duty  to  counteract  such  temptations. 


1G0  THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL. 

"I  do  not  wonder,  if  you,  who  read  such  books  as  these, 
think  it  safer  that  people  should  not  read  at  all."  The 
farmer  grinned,  and  said,  "It  is  hard  if  a  man  of  my  sub- 
stance may  not  divert  himself;  when  a  bit  of  fun  costs  only 
a  penny,  and  a  man  can  spare  that  penny,  there  is  no  harm 
dune.  When  it  is  very  hot,  or  very  wet,  and  I  come  in  to 
rest,  and  have  drunk  my  mug  of  eider,  I  like  to  take  up  a 
bit  of  a  jest-book,  or  a  comical  story,  to  make  me  laugh." 

"  0,  Mr.  Hoskins  !"  replied  Mis.  Jones,  "  when  you  come 
in  to  rest  from  a  burning  sun  or  shower,  do  you  never  think 
of  Him  whose  sun  it  is  that  is  ripening  your  corn  ?  or 
whose  shower  is  filling  the  ear,  or  causing  the  grass  to 
grow  ?  I  could  tell  you  of  some  books  which  would 
strengthen  such  thoughts,  whereas  such  as  you  read  only 
serve  to  put  them  out  of  your  head." 

Mrs.  Jones  having  taken  pains  to  let  Mr.  Hoskins  know 
that  all  the  genteel  and  wealthy  people  had  subscribed,  he 
at  last  said,  "  Why,  as  to  the  matter  of  that,  I  do  not  value 
a  crown ;  only  I  think  it  may  be  better  bestowed  ;  and  I 
am  afraid  my  own  workmen  will  fly  in  my  face  if  once  they 
are  made  scholars  ;  and  that  they  will  think  themselves  too 
good  to  work."  "  Now  you  talk  soberly,  and  give  your 
reasons,"  said  Mrs.  Jones ;  "  weak  as  they  are,  they  deserve 
an  answer.  Do  you  think  that  either  man,  woman,  or 
child,  ever  did  his  duty  the  worse,  only  because  he  knew  it 
the  better  V  "  No,  perhaps  not,"  "  Now,  the  whole  ex- 
tent of  learning  which  we  intend  to  give  the  poor,  is  only 
to  enable  them  to  read  the  Bible  ;  a  bonk  which  brings  to 
us  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation,  in  which  every  duty  is  ex- 
plained,  every  doctrine  brought  into  practice,  and  the 
highest  truths  made  level  to  the  meanest  understanding. 
The  knowledge  of  that  book,  and  its  practical  influence  on 
the  heart,  is  the  best  security  you  can  have,  both  for  the 
industry  and  obedience  of  your  servants.     Now,  can  you 


THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL.  1  fj  ( 

think  any  man  will  be  the  worse  servant  for  being  a  good 
Christian?"  "Perhaps  not."  "Are  not  the  duties  of 
children,  of  servants,  and  the  poor,  individually  and  ex- 
pressly set  forth  in  the  Bible  ?"  "  Yes."  "  Do  you  think  any 
duties  are  likely  to  be  as  well  performed  from  any  human 
motives,  such  as  fear  or  prudence,  as  from  those  religious 
motives  which  are  backed  with  the  sanction  of  rewards  and 
punishments,  of  heaven  or  hell  ?  Even  upon  your  own 
principles  of  worldly  policy,  do  you  think  a  poor  man  is 
not  less  likely  to  steal  a  sheep  or  a  horse,  who  was  taught 
when  a  boy  that  it  was  a  sin,  that  it  was  breaking  a  com- 
mandment, to  rob  a  hen-roost,  or  an  orchard,  than  one  who 
has  been  bred  in  ignorance  of  God's  law  \  Will  your  prop- 
erly be  secured  so  effectually  by  the  slocks  on  the  green, 
as  by  teaching  the  boys  in  the  school,  that  for  all  these 
things  God  will  bring  them  into  judgment?  Is  a  poor 
fellow  who  can  read  his  Bible,  so  likely  to  sleep  or  to  drink 
away  his  few  hours  of  leisure,  as  one  who  can  not  read  ? 
He  may,  and  he  often  does,  make  a  bad  use  of  his  leading  ; 
but  I  doubt  he  would  have  been  as  bad  without  it  ;  and  the 
hours  spent  in  learning  to  read  will  always  Lave  been 
among  the  mosl  harmless  ones  of  his  life." 

"  Well,  madam,"  said  the  fanner,  "if  you  do  not  think 
that  religion  will  spoil  my  young  servants,  I  do  not  care  it' 
you  do  put  me  down  for  half  a  guinea.  What  has  farm- 
er Dobson  given  ?"  "  Half  a  guinea,"  said  Mrs.  Jones. 
"Well,"  cried  the  farmer,  "it  shall  never  be  said  1  do  not 
give  more  than  he,  who  is  only  a  renter.  Dobson  half  a 
guinea!  Why,  he  wears  his  coal  as  threadbare  as  a  la- 
borer." "  Perhaps,"  replied  Mrs.  Jones,  "  that  is  one  rea- 
son why  he  gives  so  much."  "Well,  put  me  down  a 
guinea,"  cried  the  farmer ;  "as  scarce  as  guineas  ar< 
now,  I'll  oever  be  put  upon  the  same  footingwith  Dobson, 
neither."     "Yes,  and   you   must  exert  yourself  beside,  in 


162  THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL. 

insisting  that  your  workmen  send  their  children,  and  often 
look  into  the  school  yourself,  to  see  if  they  are  there,  and 
reward  or  discourage  them  accordingly,"  added  Mrs.  Jones. 
"  The  most  zealous  teachers  will  flag-  in  their  exertions,  if 
they  are  not,  animated  and  supported  by  the  wealthy;  and 
your  poor  youth  will  soon  despise  religious  instruction  as 
a  thing  forced  upon  them,  as  a  hardship  added. to  their 
other  hardships,  if  it  be  not  made  pleasant  by  the  encourag- 
ing presence,  kind  words,  and  little  gratuities,  from  their 
betters.'' 

Here  Mrs.  Jones  took  her  leave  ;  the  farmer  insisted  on 
waiting  on  her  to  the  door.  When  they  got  into  the  yard, 
they  spied  Mr.  Simpson,  who  was  standing  near  a  group 
of  females,  consisting  of  the  farmer's  two  young  daughters^ 
and  a  couple  of  rosy  dairy-maids,  an  old  blind  fiddler,  and  a 
woman  who  led  him.  The  woman  had  laid  a  basket  on 
the  ground,  out  of  which  she  Avas  dealing  some  songs  to  the 
girls,  who  were  kneeling  round  it,  and  eagerly  picking  out 
such  whose  title  suited  their  tastes.  On  seeing  the  clergyman 
come  up,  the  fiddler's  companion  (for  I  am  sorry  to  say  she 
was' not  his  wife)  pushed  some  of  the  songs  to  the  bottom 
of  the  basket,  turned  round  to  the  company,  and,  in  a  whin- 
ing tone,  asked  if  they  would  please  to  buy  a  godly  book. 
Mr.  Simpson  saw  through  the  hypocrisy  at  once,  and  in- 
stead of  making  any  answer,  took  out  of  one  of  the  girls' 
hands  a  sonof  which  the  woman  had  not  been  able  to 
snatch  away.  He  was  shocked  and  grieved  to  see  that 
these  young  girls  were  about  to  read,  to  sing,  and  to  learn 
by  heart  such  ribaldry  as  he  was  ashamed  even  to  cast  his 
eyes  on.  He  turned  about  to  the  girl,  and  gravely,  but 
mildly  said,  "  Young  woman,  what  do  you  think  should  be 
done  .to  a  person  who  should  be  found  carrying  a  box  of 
poison  round  the  country,  and  leaving  a  little  at  every 
house  ?"     The  girls  agreed  that  such  a  person  ought  to 


THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL.  -        1G3 

be  hanged.  ".That  he  should,'1  said  the  farmer,  "  if  1  was 
upon  the  jury,  and  quartered  loo."  The  tiddler  and  his 
woman  were  or'  the  same  opinion,  declaring,  they  would  do 

such  a  wick  d  thing  for  the  world,  tor  if  they  were  poor 
they  w<  re  honest.  Mr.  Simpson,  turning  to  the  other  girl, 
said,  "  Which  is  of  most  value,  the  soul  or  the  bun}'  *" 
"  The  soul,  sir,"  said  the  girl.  "  Why  so  ?"  said  he.  "  Be- 
cause, sir,  I  have  heard  you  say  in  the  pulpit,  the  soul  is  to 
last  forever."  "  Then,"  cried  Mr.  Simpson,  in  a  stern  voice, 
tui  ning- to  the  fiddler's  woman,  "  are  you  not  ashamed  to 
sell  poison  for  that  part  which  is  to  last  forever]  poison  for 
the -soul?"  "Poison?"  said  the  terrified  girl,  throwing 
down  the  I  ok,  and  shuddering  as  people  do  who  a  e  afraid 
they  have  touched  something  infectious.  "  Poison  1"  echoed 
the  farmer's  daughters,  recollecting  with  horror  the  ratsbane 
which  Lion,  the  old  house-dog,  had  got  at  the  day  before, 
and  at'ter  eating  which  she  had  seen  him  drop  down  dead 
in  convulsions.  "  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Simpson  to  the  woman, 
"  I  do  again  repeat,  the  souls  of  these  innocent  girls  will 
be  poisoned,  and  may  be  eternally  ruined  by  this  vile  trash 
which  you  carry  about." 

"  I  now  see,"  said  Mrs.  Jones  to  the  farmer,  "  the  reason 
why  you  think  learning  to  read  does  more  harm  than  good 
It  is  indeed  far  better  that  they  should  never  know  how  tc 
tell  a  letter,  unless  you  keep  such  trash  as  this  out  of  their 
way,  and  provide  them  with  what  is  good,  or  at  least  what 
is  harmless.  Still,  this  is  not  the  fault  of  reading,  but  the 
abuse  of  it.  Wine  is  still  a  good  cordial,  though  it  is  too 
often  abused  to  the  purpose  of  drunkenness." 

The  farmer  said  that  neither of  hie  maids  couldread  their 
horn-book,  though  he  owned  he  often  heard  them  singing 
that  song  which  the  parson  thought  so  bail,  but  for  his  part 
it  made  them  as  merry  as  a  nightingale. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  as  a  proof  that  it  is  not  merely 


1G4  THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL. 

being  able  to  read  which  does  the  mischief,  I  have  often 
heard,  as  I  have  been  crossing  a  hay-field,  young  girls  sing- 
ing such  indecent  ribaldry  as  has  driven  rne  out  of  the  field, 
though  I  well  knew  tbey  could  not  read  aline  of  what  they 
were  singing,  but  had  caught  it  from  others.  So  you  see 
you  may  as  well  say  the  memory  is  a  wicked  talent  because 
some  people  misapply  it,  as  to  say  that  reading  is  danger- 
ous because  some  folks  abuse  it." 

While  they  were  talking,  the  fiddler  and  his  woman 
were  trying  to  steal  away  unobserved,  but  Mr.  Simpson 
stopped  them,  and  sternly  said,  "  Woman,  I  shall  have  some 
further  talk  with  you.  I  am  a  magistrate  as  well  as  a  min- 
ister, and  if  I  know  it,  I  will  no  more  allow  a  wicked  book 
to  be  sold  in  my  parish  than  a  dose  of  poison."  The  girls 
threw  away  all  their  songs,  thanked  Mr.  Simpson,  begged 
Mrs.  Jones  would  take  them  into  her  school  after  they  had 
done  milking  in  the  evenings,  that  they  might  learn  to  read 
only  what  was  proper.  They  promised  they  would  never 
more  deal  with  any  but  sober,  honest  hawkers,  such  as  sell 
good  little  books,  Christmas  carols,  and  harmless  songs,  and 
desired  the  fiddler's  woman  never  to  call  there  again. 

This  little  incident  afterward  confirmed  Mrs.  Jones  in  a 
plan  she  had  before  some  thoughts  of  putting  in  practice. 
This  was,  after  her  school  had  been  established  a  few 
months,  to  invite  all  the  well-disposed  grown-up  youth  of 
the  parish  to  meet  her  at  the  school  an  hour  or  two  on  a 
Sunday  evening,  after  the  necessary  business  of  the  dairy, 
and  of  serving  the  cattle  was  over.  Both  Mrs.  Jones  and 
her  agent  had  the  talent  of  making  this  time  pass  so  agree- 
ably, by  their  manner  of  explaining  Scripture,  and  of  im- 
pressing the  heart  by  serious  and  affectionate  discourse,  that 
in  a  short  time  the  evening-school  was  nearly  filled  with  a 
second  company,  after  the  younger  ones  were  dismissed. 
In  time,  not  only  the  servants,  but  the  sons  and  daughters 


THE     SUNDAY     SCHOOL.  165 

of  the  most  substantial  people  in  the  parish  attended.  At 
length  many  of  the  parents,  pleased  with  the  improvement 
so  visible  in  the  young  people,  got  a  habit  of  dropping  in, 
that  they  might  learn  how  to  instruct  their  own  families ; 
and  it  was  observed  that  as  the  school  filled,  not  only  the 
fives-court  and  public  houses  were  thinned,  but  even  Sun- 
day gossipping  and  tea-visiting  declined.  Even  farmer  Hos- 
kins,  who  was  at  first  very  angry  with  his  maids  for  leaving 
off  those  merry  songs  (as  he  called  them)  was  so  pleased 
by  the  manner  in  which  the  psalms  were  sung  at  the 
school,  that  he  promised  Mrs.  Jones  to  make  her  a  present 
of  half  a  sheep  toward  her  first  May-day  feast.  Of  this 
feast  some  account  shall  be  given  hereafter  ;  and  the  reader 
may  expect  some  further  account  of  the  Sunday  School  in 
the  history  of  Hester  Wilrnot. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HESTER  WILMOT. 

BEING    THE    SECOND    PART    OF    TUE    SUNDAY    SCHOOL 


-*-*-+- 


.  Hester  Wilmot  was  born  in  the  parish  of  Weston,  of 
parents  who  maintained  themselves  by  their  labor  ;  they 
were  both  of  them  ungodly  :  it  is  no  wonder  therefore  they 
were  unhappy.  They  lived  badly  too-other,  and  how  could 
they  do  otherwise  ?  for  their  tempers  were  very  different, 
and  they  had  no  religion  to  smooth  down  this  difference, 
or  to  teach  them  that  they  ought  to  bear  with  each  other's 
faults.  Rebecca  Wilmot  was  a  proof  that  people  may  have 
some  right  qualities,  and  yet  be  but  bad  characters,  and  ut- 
terly destitute  of  religion.  She  was  clean,  notable,  and  in- 
dustrious. Now  I  know  some  folks  fancy  that  the  poor  who 
have  these  qualities  need  have  no  other,  but  this  is  a  sad  mis- 
take, as  I  am  sure  every  page  in  the  Bible  would  show  ;  and 
it  is  a  pity  people  do  not  consult  it  oftener.  They  direct 
their  plowing  and  sowing  by  the  information  of  the  Almanac  : 
why  will  they  not  consult  the  Bible  for  the  direction  of  their 
hearts  and  lives  ?  Rebecca  was  of  a  violent,  ungovernable 
temper  ;  and  that  very  neatness  which  is  in  itself  so  pleasing, 
in  her  became  a  sin,  for  her  affection  to  her  husband  and 
children  was  quite  losl  in  an  over  anxious  desire  to  have  her 
bouse  reckoned  the  nicest  in  the  parish.  Rebecca  was- also 
a  proof  that  a  poor  woman  may  be  as  vain  as  a  rich  one,  for 
it  was  not  so  much  the  comfort  of  neatness,  as  the  praise  of 


THE     HISTORY    OF     HESTER    WILMOT.        1G7 

neatness,  which  she  coveted.  A  spot  on  her  hearth,  or 
a  bit  of  rust  on  a  brass  candlestick,  would  throw  her  into  a 
violent  passion.  Now  it  is  very  right  to  keep  the  hearth 
clean  and  the  candlestick  bright,  but  it  is  very  wrong  so  to 
set  one's  affections  on  a  hearth  or  a  candlestick,  as  to  make 
one's  self  unhappy  if  any  trifling  accident  happens  to  them  ; 
and  if  Rebecca  had  been  as  careful  to  keep  her  heart  with- 
out spot,  or  her  life  without  blemish,  as  she  was  to  keep  her 
fire-irons  free  from  either,  she  would  have  been  held  up  in 
this  history,  not  as  a  warning,  but  as  a  pattern,  and  in  that 
case  her  nicety  would  have  come  in  for  a  part  of  the  praise. 
It  was  no  fault  in  Rebecca,  but  a  merit,  that  her  oak  table 
was  so  bright  you  could  almost  see  to  put  your  cap  on  in 
it;  but  it  was  no  merit  but  a  fault,  that  when  John,  her 
husband,  laid  down  his  cup  of  beer  upon  it  so  as  to  leave  a. 
mark,  she  would  fly  out  into  so  terrible  a  passion  that  all 
the  children  were  forced  to  run  to  corners ;  now  poor  John 
having  no  corner  to  run  to,  ran  to  the  ale-house,  till  that 
which  was  at  first  a  refuge  too  soon  became  a  pleasure. 

Rebecca  never  wished  her  children  to  learn  to  read,  be- 
cause she  said  it  would  make  them  lazy,  and  she  herself  had 
done  very  well  without  it.  She  would  keep  poor  Hester 
from  church  to  stone  the  space  under  the  stairs  in  tint'  pat- 
terns  and  flowers.  I  don't  pretend  to  say  there  was  an} 
harm  in  this  little  decoration,  it  looks  pretty  enough,  and  it 
is  better  to  lei  the  children  do  thai  than  nothing.  But  still 
these  are  not  things  to  set  one's  heart  upon  ;  and  besidi  s 
Rebecca  only  did  it  as  a  dap  for  praise;  for  she  was  sulky 
and  disappointed  if  any  ladies  happened  to  call  in  and  did 
not  seem  delighted  with  the  flowers  which  she  used  to 
draw  with  a  burnt  stick  on  the  whitewash  of  the  chim- 
ney corners.  Besides, all  this  finerj  was  often  done  on  a 
Sunday,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  of  harm  in  doing  right 
things  at  a  wrong  time,  or  in  wasting  much  time  on  things 


1G8        THE     HISTORY     OF    HESTER     WILMOT. 

which  are  of  no  real  use,  or  in  doing  any  thing  at  all  out 
of  vanity.  Now  I  beg  that  no  lazy  slattern  of  a  wife  will 
go  and  take  any  comfort  in  her  dirt  from  what  is  here  said 
against  Rebecca's  nicety  ;  for  I  believe,  that  for  oue  who 
makes  her  husband  unhappy  through  neatness,  twenty  do 
so  by  dirt  and  laziness.  All  excuses  are  wrong,  but  the  ex- 
cess of  a  good  quality  is  not  so  uncommon  as  the  excess  of 
a  bad  one  ;  and  not  being  so  obvious,  perhaps,  for  that 
very  reason  requires  more  animadversion. 

John  Wilmot  was  not  an  ill-natured  man,  but  he  had  no 
fixed  principle.  Instead  of  setting  iiimself  to  cure  his  wife's 
faults  by  mild  reproof  and  good  example,  he  was  driven  by 
them  into  still  greater  faults  himself.  It  is  a  common  case 
with  people  who  have  no  religion,  when  any  cross  accident 
befalls  them,  instead  of  trying  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
matter,  instead  of  considering  their  trouble  as  a  trial  sent 
from  God  to  purify  them,  or  instead  of  considering  the  fau.ts 
of  others  as  a  punishment  for  their  own  sins,  instead  of  this 
I  say,  what  do  they  do,  but  either  sink  down  at  once  into 
despair,  or  else  run  for  comfort  into  evil  courses.  Drinking 
is  the  common  remedy  for  sorrow,  if  that  can  be  called  a 
remedy,  the  end  of  which  is  to  destroy  soul  and  body.  John 
now  began  to  spend  all  his  leisure  hours  at  the  Bell,  lie 
used  to  be  fond  of  his  children  :  but  when  he  could  not 
come  home  in  quiet,  and  play  with  the  little  ones,  while  his 
wife  dressed  him  a  bit  of  hot  supper,  he  grew  in  time  not 
to  come  home  at  all.  He  who  has  once  taken  to  drink  can 
seldom  be  said  to  be  guilty  of  one  sin  only  ;  John's  heart 
became  hardened.  His  affection  for  his  family  was  lost  in 
self-indulgence.  Patience  and  submission  on  the  part  of 
the  wife,  might  have  won  much  upon  a  man  of  John's  tem- 
per ;  but  instead  of  trying  to  reclaim  him,  his  wTife  seemed 
rather  to  delight  in  putting  him  as  much  in  the  wrong  as 
she  could,  that  she  might  be  justified  in  her  constant  abuse 


THE     HIST  OUT     OK     HESTER     WILMOT.        169 

fo  him.  I  doubt  whether  she  would  have  been  as  much 
pleased  with  his  reformation  as  she  was  with  always  talking 
of  his  faults,  though  I  know  it  was  the  opinion  of  the 
neighbors,  that  if  she  had  taken  as  much  pains  to  reform 
her  husband  by  reforming  her  own  temper,  as  she  did  to 
abuse  him  and  expose  him,  her  endeavors  might  have  been 
blessed  with  success.  Good  Christians,  who  are  trying  to 
subdue  their  own  faults,  can  hardly  believe  that  the  ungodly 
have  a  sort  of  savage  satisfaction  in  trying,  by  indulgence 
of  their  own  evil  tempers,  to  lessen  the  happiness  of  those 
with  whom  they  have  to  do.  Need  we  look  any  further  for 
a  proof  of  our  own  corrupl  nature,  when  we  see  mankind 
delighl  in  sins  which  have  neither  the  temptations  of  profit 
or  the  allurement  of  pleasure,  such  as  plaguing,  vexing,  or 
abusing  each  other. 

Hester  was  the  eldest  of  their  five  children  ;  she  was  a 
sharp  sensible  girl,  but  at  fourteen  years  old  she  could  not 
tell  a  letter,  nor  had  she  ever  been  taught  to  bow  her  knee 
to  Him  who  made  her,  for  John's  or  rather  Rebecca's  house, 
had  seldom  the  name  of  God  pronounced  in  it,  except  to  be 
blasphemed. 

It  was  just  about  this  time,  if  I  mistake  not,  that  Mrs. 
Jones  set  up  her  Sunday  School,  of  which  Mrs.  Betty  Crew 
was  appointed  mistress,  as  has  been  before  related.  Mrs. 
Jones  finding  that  none  of  the  Wilmots  were  sent  to  school, 
took  a  walk  to  Rebecca's  house,  and  civilly  told  her,  she 
called  to  let  her  know  that  a  school  was  opened  to  which 
she  desired  her  to  send  her  children  on  Sunday  following, 
especially  her  oldest  daughter  Hester.  "Well,"  said  Re- 
becca, "  and  what  will  you  give  her  if  I  do  ?"  "  Give  her !" 
replied  Mrs.  Jones,  "that  is  rather  a  rude  question,  and 
asked  in  a  rude  manner  :  however,  as  a  soft  answer  turneth 
away  wrath,  I  assure  you  that  I  will  give  her  the  best  of 
learning;  1  will  teach  her  to  fear  God  and  keep  his  rom- 

8 


170        THE     niSTORV     OP     HESTER.    TTILMOT 

mandments."  "  I  would  rather  you  would  teach  her  to  feai 
me,  and  keep  my  house  clean,"  said  this  wicked  woman. 
"She  sha'n't  come,  however,  unless  you  will  pay  her  for  it." 
"  Pay  her  for  it !"  said  the  lady  ;  "  will  it  not  be  reward 
enough  that  she  will  be  taught  to  read  the  word  of  God 
without  any  expense  to  you  ?  For  though  many  gifts  both 
of  books  and  clothing  will  be  given  the  children,  yet  you 
are  not  to  consider  these  gifts  so  much  in  the  light  of  pay- 
ment as  an  expression  of  good  will  in  your  benefactors." 
"  I  say,"  interrupted  Rebecca,  "  that  Hester  sha'  n't  go  to 
school.  Religion  is  of  no  use  that  I  know  of,  but  to  make 
people  hate  their  own  flesh  and  blood  ;  and  I  see  no  good 
in  learning  but  to  make  folks  proud,  and  lazy,  and  dirty.  I 
can  not  tell  a  letter  myself,  and,  though  I  say  it,  that  should 
not  say  it,  there  is  not  a  notabler  woman  in  the  parish." 
"  Pray,"  said  Mrs.  Joues  mil  ily,  "do  you  think  that  young 
people  will  disobey  their  parents  the  more  for  being  taught  to 
fear  God  ?"  I  don't  think  any  thing  about  it,"  said  Rebec- 
ca ;  "  I  sha'n't  let  her  come,  and  there's  the  long  and  short 
of  the  matter.  Hester  has  other  fish  to  fry  ;  but  you  may 
have  some  of  these  little  ones  if  you  will."  "No,"  said 
Mrs.  Jones,  "  I  will  not ;  I  have  not  set  up  a  nursery,  but  a 
school.  I  am  not  at  all  this  expense  to  take  crying  babes  out 
of  the  mother's  wray,  but  to  instruct  reasonable  beings  in 
the  road  to  eternal  life  :  and  it  oujdit  to  be  a  rule  in  all 
schools  not  to  take  the  troublesome  young  children  unless 
the  mother  will  try  to  spare  the  elder  ones,  who  are  capable 
of  learning."  "  But,"  said  Rebecca,  "  I  have  a  young  child 
which  Hester  must  nurse  while  I  dress  dinner.  And  she 
must  iron  the  rags,  and  scour  the  irons,  and  dig  the  potatoes, 
and  fetch  the  water  to  boil  them."  As  to  nursing  the 
child,  that  is  indeed  a  necessary  duty,  and  Hester  ought  to 
stay  at  home  part  of  the  day  to  enable  you  to  go  to  church  ; 
and  families  should  relieve  each  other  in  this  way,  but  as  to 


THE     HISTORY     OF    HESTER    WILMOT.        lVl 

all  the  rest,  they  are  no  reasons  at  all,  for  the  irons  need  not 
be  scoured  so  often,  and  the  rags  should  be  ironed,  and  the 
potatoes  dug,  and  the  water  fetched  on  the  Saturday ;  and 
I  can  tell  you  that  neither  your  minister  here,  nor  your 
Judge  hereafter,  will  accept  of  any  such  excuse." 

All  this  while  Hester  staid  behind  pale  and  trembling 
lest  her  unkind  mother  should  carry  her  point.  She  looked 
up  at  Mrs.  Jones  with  so  much  love  and  gratitude  as  to 
win  her  affection,  and  this  good  lady  went  on  trying  to 
soften  this  harsh  mother.  At  last  Rebecca  condescended 
to  say,  "  Well  I  don't  know  but  I  may  let  her  come  now 
and  then  when  I  can  spare  her,  provided  I  find  you  make  it 
worth  her  while."  All  this  time  she  had  never  asked  Mrs. 
Jones  to  sit  down,  nor  had  once  bid  her  young  children  be 
quiet,  though  they  were  crying  and  squalling  the  whole 
time.  Rebecca  fancied  this  rudeness  was  the  only  way  she 
had  of  showing  she  thought  herself  to  be  as  good  as  her 
guest,  but  Mrs.  Jones  never  lost  her  temper.  The  moment 
she  went  out  of  the  house,  Rebecca  called  out  loud  enough 
for  her  to  hear,  and  ordered  Hester  to  get  the  stone  and  a 
bit  of  -and  to  scrub  out  the  prints  of  that  dirty  woman's 
shoes.  Hester  in  high  spirits  cheerfully  obeyed,  and  rubbed 
out  the  s!ains  so  neatly,  that  her  mother  could  not  help 
lamenting  that  so  handy  a  girl  was  going  to  be  spoiled, 
by  being  taught  godliness,  and  learning  any  such  nonsense. 

Mrs.  Jones,  who  knew  the  world,  told  her  agent,  Mis. 
Crew,  that  her  grand  difficulty  would  arise  not  so  much 
from  the  children  as  the  parents.  These,  said  she,  are  ap1 
to  tall  into  thai  sad  mistake,  that  because  their  children  are 
poor,  and  have  little  of  this  world's  goods,  the  mothers 
mil-!  make  it  up  to  them  in  false  indulgence.  The  children 
of  the  gently  are  much  more  reproved  and  corrected  for 
their  faults,  and  bred  up  in  far  stricter  discipline.  He  was 
a  king  who  said,  Chasten  thy  son,  and  let  not  thy  rod  spare 


172        THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WILMOT. 

for  his  crying.  But  do  not  lose  your  patience ;  the  more 
vicious  the  children  arc,  you  must  remember  the  more  they 
stand  in  need  of  your  instruction.  When  they  are  bad, 
comfort  yourself  with  thinking  how  much  worse  they  would 
have  been  but  for  you  ;  and  what  a  burden  they  would  be- 
come to  society  if  these  evil  tempers  were  to  receive  no 
check.  The  great  thing  which  enabled  Mrs.  Crew  to  teach 
well,  was  the  deep  insight  she  had  got  into  the  corruption 
of  human  nature.  And  I  doubt  if  any*  one  can  make  a 
thoroughly  good  teacher  of  religion  and  morals,  who  wants 
the  master-key  to  the  heart.  Others,  indeed,  may  teach 
knowledge,  decency,  and  good  manners ;  but  those,  how- 
ever valuable,  are  not  Christianity.  Mrs.  Crew,  who  knew 
that  out  of  the  heart  proceed  lying,  theft,  and  all  that  train 
of  evils  which  begin  to  break  out  even  in  young  children, 
applied  her  labors  to  correct  this  root  of  evil.  But  though 
a  diligent,  she  was  a  humble  teacher,  well  knowing  that 
unless  the  grace  of  God  blessed  her  labors,  she  should  but 
labor  in  vain. 

Hester  Wilmot  never  failed  to  attend  the  school,  when- 
ever her  perverse  mother  would  give  her  leave,  and  her 
delight  in  learning  was  so  great,  that  she  would  work  early 
and  late  to  gain  a  little  time  for  her  book.  As  she  had  a 
quick  capacity,  she  learned  soon  to  spell  and  read,  and  Mrs. 
Crew  observing  her  diligence,  used  to  lend  her  a  book  to 
carry  home,  that  she  might  pick  up  a  little  at  odd  times. 
It  would  be  well  if  teachers  would  make  this  distinction. 
To  give,  or  lend  books  to  those  who  take  no  delight  mthein 
is  a  useless  expense  ;  while  it  is  kind  and  right  to  assist 
well-disposed  young  people  with  every  help  of  this  sort. 
Those  who  love  books  seldom  hurt  them,  while  the  slothful 
who  hate  learning,  will  wear  out  a  book  more  in  a  week, 
than  the  diligent  will  do  in  a  year.  Hester's  way  was  to 
read  over  a  question  in  her  catechism,  or  one  verse  in  her 


THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WILMOT.       173 

hymn  book,^by  fire-light  before  she  went  to  bed  ;  this  she 
thought  over  in  the  night ;  and  when  she  was  dressing 
herself  in  the  morning,  she  was  glad  to  find  she  always 
knew  a  little  more  than  she  had  done  the  morning  before. 
It  is  not  to  be  believed  how  much  those  people  will  be 
found  to  have  gained  at  the  end  of  the  year,  who  are  ac- 
customed to  work  np  all  the  little  odd  ends  and  remnants 
of  leisure;  who  value  time  even  more  than  money;  and 
who  are  convinced  that  minutes  are  no  more  to  be  wasted 
than  pence.  Nay,  he  who  finds  he  has  wasted  a  shilling 
may  by  diligence  hope  to  fetch  it  up  again  :  but  no  repent- 
ance or  industry  can  ever  bring  back  one  wasted  hour. 
My  good  young  reader,  if  ever  you  are  tempted  to  waste 
an  hour,  go  and  ask  a  dying  man  what  he  would  give  for 
that  hour  which  you  are  throwing  away,  and  according  as 
he  answers  so  do  you  act. 

As  her  mother  hated  the  sight  of  a  book,  Hester  was 
forced  to  learn  out  of  sight :  it  was  no  disobedience  to  do 
this,  as  long  as  she  wasted  no  part  of  that  time  which  it 
was  her  duty  to  spend  in  useful  labor.  She  would  have 
thought  it  a  sin  to  have  left  her  work  for  her  book;  but 
she  did  not  think  it  wrong  to  steal  time  from  her  sleep,  and 
to  bo  learning  an  hour  before  the  rest  of  the  family  were 
awake.  Hester  would  not  neglect  the  washing-tub,  or  the 
spinning-wheel,  even  to  get  on  with  her  catechism;  but  she 
thought  it  fair  to  think  over  her  questions  while  she  was 
washing  and  spinning.  In  a  few  mouths  she  was  able  to 
read  fluently  in  St.  John's  Gospel,  which  is  the  easiest.  But 
Mrs.  Crew  di«l  not  think  it  enough  that  her  children  could 
read  a  chapter,  she  would  make  them  understand  it  also. 
It  is  in  a  srood  desrre  i  ou in"-  to  the  want  of  religious  knowl- 
ledge  in  teachers,  that  there  is  so  little  religion  in  the 
world.  Unless  the  Bible  is  laid  open  to  the  understanding, 
children  may  read  from  Genesis  to  the  Revelation,  without 


1*74        THE     HISTORY      OF     HESTER     WILMOT. 

any  other  improvement  than  barely  learning  how  to  pro- 
nounce the  words.  Mrs.  Crew  found  there  was  but  one 
way  to  compel  their  attention ;  this  was  by  obliging  them 
to  return  back  again  to  her  the  sense  of  whal  she  ha  1  rea  I 
to  them,  and  this  they  might  do  in  their  own  words,  if  they 
could  not  remember  the  words  of  Scripture.  Those  who 
had  weak  capacities,  would,  to  be  sure,  do  this  but  very  im- 
perfectly; but  even  the  weakest,  if  they  were  willing  would 
retain  something.  She  so  managed,  that  saying  the  cate- 
chism was  not  merely  an  act  of  the  memory,  but  of  the 
understanding;  for  she  had  observed  formerly  that  those 
who  had  learned  the  catechism  in  the  common  formal  way, 
when  they  were  children,  had  never  understood  it  when 
they  became  men  and  women,  and  it  remaned  in  the  mem- 
ory without  having  made  any  impression  on  the  mind. 
Thus  this  fine  summary  of  the  Christian  religion  is  con- 
sidered as  little  more  than  a  form  of  words,  the  being  able 
to  repeat  which,  is  a  qualification  for  being  confirmed  by 
the  bishop,  instead  of  being  considered  as  really  containing 
those  grounds  of  Christian  faith  and  practice,  by  which 
they  are  to  bo  confirmed  Christians. 

Mis.  Crew  i  ed  to  say  to  Mrs.  Jones,  those  who  teach  the 
poor  must  indeod  give  line  upon  line,  precept  upon  precept, 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little,  as  they  can  receive  it.  So 
that  teaching  must  be  a  great  grievance  to  those  who  do 
not  really  make  it  a  labor  of  love.  I  see  so  much  levity, 
obstinacy,  and  ign<  ranee,  that  it  keeps  my  own  forbearance 
in  continual  exercise,  insomuch  that  I  trust  I  am  getting 
good  myself,  while  1  am  doing  good  to  others.  No  one, 
madam,  can  know  till  they  try,  that  after  they  have  asked 
a  poor  untaught  child  the  same  question  nineteen  limes, 
they  must  not  lose  their  temper,  but  go  on  and  ask  it  the 
twentieth.  Now  and  then,  when  I  am  tempted  to  be  im 
patient,  I  correct  myself  by  thinking  over  that  active  proot 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HESTER  WILMOT.   1*75 

which  our  blessed  Saviour  requires  of  our  love  to  him  when 
he  says,  Feed  my  lambs. 

Hester  Wilmot  had  never  been  bred  to  go  to  church,  for 
her  father  and  mother  had  never  thought  of  going  them- 
selves, unless  at  a  christening  in  their  own  family,  or  at  a 
funeral  of  their  neighbors,  both  of  which  they  considered 
merely  as  opportunities  for  good  eating  and  drinking,  and 
not  as  offices  of  religion. 

As  poor  Hester  had  no  comfort  at  home,  it  was  the  less 
wonder  she  delighted  in  her  school,  her  Bible,  and  her 
church ;  for  so  great  is  God's  goodness,  that  he  is  pleased 
to  make  religion  a  peculiar  comfort  to  those  who  have 
no  other  comfort.  The  God  wlm.se  name  she  had  seldom 
heard  but  when  it  was  taken  in  vain,  was  now  revealed 
to  her  as  a  God  of  infinite  power,  justice,  and  holiness. 
What  she  read  in  her  Bible,  and  what  she  felt  in  her  own 
heart,  convinced  her  she  was  a  sinner,  and  her  catechism 
said  the  same.  She  was  much  distressed  one  day  on  think- 
ing over  this  promise  which  she  had  just  made  (in  answer 
to  the  question  which  fell  to  her  lot),  To  renounce  the  devil 
and  all  his  works,  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  wickt  d 
world,  and  all  the  sinful  lusts  of  the  flesh.  I  say  she  was 
distressed  on  finding  that  these  were  iot  merely  certain 
words  which  she  was  bound  to  repeat,  but  certain  condi- 
tions which  she  was  bound  to  perforin.  She  was  sadly  puz- 
zled to  know  how  this  was  to  be  done,  till  sin-  met  with 
these  words  in  her  Bible  :  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee. 
But  still  she  was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  this  grace  was  to 
be  obtained.  Happily  Mr.  Simpson  preached  on  the  next 
Sunday  from  this  text,  Ash  and  ye  shall  rec  ive,  etc.  In 
this  sermon  was  explained  to  her  the  nature,  the  duty,  and 
the  efficacy  of  prayer.  After  this  she  open  I  her  heart  to 
Mrs.  Crew,  who  taught  her  the  greal  doctrines  of  Scripture, 
it)  a  serious  hut  plain  way.     Hester's  own  hearl  led  her  to 


176        THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WUMOT. 

assent  to  that  humbling  doctrine  of  the  catechism,  that  We 
arc  by  nature  bom  in  sin  ;  and  truly  glad  was  she  to  be 
relieved  by  hearing  of  That  spiritual  grace  by  which  we 
have  a  new  birth  unto  righteousness.  Thus  her  mind  was 
no  sooner  humbled  by  one  part  than  it  gained  comfort  from 
another.  On  the  other  hand,  while  she  was  rejoicing  in  a 
lively  hope  in  God's  mercy  through  Christ,  her  mistress  put 
her  in  mind  that  that  was  only  the  true  repentance  by 
which  we  forsake  sin.  Thus  the  catechism,  explained  by  a 
pious  teacher,  was  found  to  contain  all  the  articles  of  the 
Christian  faith. 

Mrs.  Jones  greatly  disapproved  the  practice  of  turning 
away  the  scholars,  because  they  were  grown  up.  Young 
people,  said  she,  want  to  be  warned  at  sixteen  more  than 
they  did  at  six,  and  they  are  commonly  turned  adrift  at  the 
very  age  when  they  want  most  instruction  ;  when  dangers 
and  temptations  most  beset  them.  They  are  exposed  to 
more  evil  by  the  leisure  of  a  Sunday  evening,  than  by  the 
business  of  a  whole  week  ;  but  then  religion  must  be  made 
pleasant,  and  instruction  must  be  carried  on  in  a  kind,  and 
agreeable,  and  familiar  way.  If  they  once  dislike  the 
teacher,  they  will  soon  get  to  dislike  what  is  taught,  so  that 
a  master  or  mistress  is  in  some  measure  answerable  for  the 
future  piety  of  young  persons,  inasmuch  as  that  piety  de- 
pends on  their  manner  of  making  religion  pleasant  as  well 
as  profitable. 

To  attend  Mrs.  Jones's  evening  instructions  wras  soon 
thought  not  a  task  but  a  holiday.  In  a  few  months  it  was 
reckoned  a  disadvantage  to  the  character  of  any  young 
person  in  the  parish  to  know  that  they  did  not  attend  the 
evening  school.  At  first,  indeed,  many  of  them  came  only 
with  a  view  to  learn  amusement;  but,  by  the  blessing  of 
God,  they  grew  fond  of  instruction,  and  some  of  them  be- 
came truly  pious.     Mrs.  Jones  spoke  to  them  on  Sundav 


THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WILMOT.        1*77 

evening  as  follows  :  "  My  dear  young  women,  I  rejoice  at 
your  improvement ;  but  I  rejoice  with,  trembling.  I  have 
known  young  people  set  out  well,  who  afterward  fell  oft'. 
The  heart  is  deceitful.  Many  like  religious  knowledge,  who 
do  not  like  the  strictness  of  a  religious  life.  I  must  there- 
fore watch  whether  those  who  are  diligent  at  church  and 
school,  are  diligent  in  their  daily  walk.  Whether  those 
who  say  they  believe  in  God,  really  obey  him.  Whether 
they  who  profess  to  love  Christ  keep  His  commandments. 
Those  who  hear  themselves  commended  for  early  piety, 
may  learn  to  rest  satisfied  with  the  praise  of  man.  People 
may  get  a  knack  at  religions  phrases  without  being  relig- 
ious; they  may  even  get  to  frequent  places  of  worship  as 
an  amusement,  in  order  to  meet  their  friends,  and  may 
learn  to  delight  in  a  sort  of  spiritual  gossip,  while  religion 
has  no  power  in  their  hearts.  But  I  hope  better  things 
of  you,  and  things  that  accompany  salvation,  though  I  thus 
speak." 

What  became  of  Hester  Wilm«t,  with  some  account  of 
Mrs.  Jones's  May -day  feast  for  he:  p<*hool,  my  readers  shall 
be  told  next  mouth. 


PART     II. 


THE      NEW      G  0  V    N  . 


Hester  Wilmot,  I  am  sorry  to  obscvo,  had  been  by  na- 
ture peevish  and  lazy;  she  would,  when  a  child,  now  and 
then  slighl  her  work,  and  when  her  mother  was  unreason- 
able she  was  too  apt  to  return  a  saucy  answsr;  bul  when 
she  became  acquainted  with  her  own  heart,  and  with  the 
Scriptures,  these  evil  tempers  wrere,  in  a  goo!  measure,  sub* 

8* 


178        THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WILMOT. 

duod,  for  she  now  learned  to  imitate,  not  her  violent  moth- 
er, but  Him  who  wan  meek  and  lowly.  When  she  was 
scolded  for  doing  ill,  she  prayed  for  grace  to  do  better  ;  and 
the  on'y  answer  she  made  to  her  mother's  charge,  "thai  re- 
ligion only  served  to  make  people  lazy,''  was  to  strive  to  do 
twice  as  much  work,  in  order  to  prove  that  it  really  made 
them  diligent.  The  only  thing  in  which  she  ventured  to 
disobey  her  mother  was,  that  when  she  ordered  her  to  do 
week-day's  work  on  a  Sunday,  Hester  cried,  and  said,  she 
did  not  dare  to  disobey  God;  but  to  show  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  save  her  own  labor,  she  would  do  a  double  portion 
of  work  on  the  Saturday  night,  and  rise  two  hours  earlier 
on  Monday  morning. 

Once,  when  she  had  worked  very  hard,  her  mother  told 
her  that  she  would  treat  her  with  a  holiday  the  following 
Sabbath,  and  lake  her  a  fine  walk  to  eat  cakes  and  drink 
ale  at  Weston  fair,  which,  though  it  was  professed  to  be 
kepi  on  the  Monday,  yet,  to  the  disgrace  of  the  village,  al- 
ways began  on  the  Sunday  evening.*  Rebecca,  who  would 
on  no  account  have  wasted  the  Monday,  which  was  a  work- 
ing day,  in  idleness  and  pleasure,  thought  she  had  a  very 
good  right  to  enjoy  herself  at  the  fair  on  the  Sunday  even- 
ing, as  well  as  to  take  her  children.  Hester  earnestly 
begged  to  be  left  at  home,  and  her  mother,  in  a  rage,  went 
without  her.  A  wet  walk,  and  more  ale  than  she  was  used 
to  drink,  gave  Rebecca  a  dangerous  fever.  During  this  ill- 
ness Hester,  who  would  not  follow  her  to  a  scene  of  disso- 

*  This  practice  is  too  common.  Those  fairs  which  profess  to  be 
kept  on  Monday,  commonly  begin  on  the  Sunday.  It  is  much  to 
be  wished  that  magistrates  would  put  a  stop  to  it,  as  Mr.  Simpson 
did  at  Weston,  at  the  request  of  Mrs.  Jones.  There  is  another 
great  evil  worth  the  notice  of  justices.  In  many  villages,  during 
the  fair,  ale  is  sold  at  private  houses,  which  have  no  license,  to  the 
great  injury  of  sobriety  and  good  morals. 


THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER    WILMOT.        179 

lute  mirtli,  attended  her  night  and  day,  and  denied  herself 
necessaries  that  her  sick  mother  might  have  comforts  ;  and 
though  she  secretly  prayed  to  God  that  this  sickness  might 
change  her  mother's  heart,  yet  she  never  once  reproached 
her,  or  put  her  in  mind  that  it  was  caught  by  indulging  in 
a  sinful  pleasure. 

Another  Sunday  night  her  father  told  Hester  he  thought 
she  had  now  been  at  school  Ions;  enouo-h  for  him  to  have  a 
little  good  of  her  learning,  so  he  desired  she  would  stay  at 
home  and  read  to  him.  Hester  cheerfully  ran  and  fetched 
her  Testament.  But  John  fed  a  laughing,  calling  her  a  fool, 
and  said,  it  would  be  time  enough  to  read  the  Testament 
to  him  when  he  was  going  to  die,  but  at  present  he  must 
have  something  merry.  So  saying,  he  gave  her  a  song- 
book  which  he  had  picked  up  at  the  Bell.  Hester,  having 
cast  her  eyes  over  it,  refused  to  read  it,  saying,  she  did  not 
dare  offend  God  by  reading  what  would  hurt  her  own  soul. 
John  called  her  a  canting  hypocrite,  and  said  he  would  put 
the  Testament  into  the  fire,  for  that  there  was  not  a  more 
merry  girl  than  she  was  before  she  became  religious.  Her 
mother,  for  once,  took  her  part ;  not  because  she  thought 
her  daughter  in  the  right,  but  because  she  was  glad  of  any 
pretense  to  show  her  husband  was  in  the  wrong ;  though 
she  herself  would  have  abused  Hester  for  the  same  thin£  if 
John  had  taken  her  part.  John,  with  a  shocking  oath, 
abused  them  both,  and  went  off  in  a  violent  passion.  Hes- 
ter, instead  of  saying  one  undutiful  word  against  her  father, 
took  up  a  Psalter  in  order  to  teach  her  little  sisters ;  but 
Rebecca  was  so  provoked  at  her  for  not  .joining  her  in  her 
abuse  of  her  husband,  that  she  changed  her  humor,  said 
J. dm  was  in  the  right,  and  Hester  a  perverse  hypocrite,  who 
only  made  religion  a  pretense  tor  being  undutiful  to  her 
parents.  Hester  bore  all  in  silence,  and  committed  her 
cause  to  Him  whojudgeth  righteoutly.     It  would  have  been 


1 80        THE     HISTORY     OF     H  E  S  T  E  R     W  1  L  M  0  r . 

a  great  comfort  to  her  if  she  Lad  dared  to  go  to  Mrs.  Crew, 
ami  to  have  joined  in  the  religious  exercises  of  the  evening 
at  school.  But  her  mother  refused  to  let  her,  saying  it 
would  only  harden  her  heart  in  mischief.  Hester  said  not 
a  word,  but  after  having  put  the  little  ones  to  bed,  and 
heard  them  say  their  prayers  out  of  sight,  she  went  and  sat 
down  in  her  own  little  loft,  and  said  to  herself,  '*  It  would 
be  pleasant  to  me  to  have  taught  my  little  sisters  to  read  ; 
I  thought  it  was  my  duty,  for  David  has  said,  Come  ye  chil- 
dren, hearken  unto  me,  and  I  will  teach  you  the  fear  of  the 
Lord.  It  would  have  been  still  more  pleasant  to  have 
passed  the  evening  at  school,  because  I  am  still  ignorant, 
and  fitter  to  learn  than  to  teach  ;  but  I  can  not  do  either 
without  flying  in  the  face  of  my  mother ;  God  sees  fit  to- 
night to  change  my  pleasant  duties  into  a  painful  trial.  I 
give  up  my  will,  and  I  submit  to  the  will  of  my  father ;  but 
when  he  orders  me  to  commit  a  known  sin,  then  I  dare  not 
do  it,  because,  in  so  doing,  I  must  disobey  my  father  which 
is  in  heaven." 

Now,  it  so  fell  out,  that  this  dispute  happened  on  the  very 
Sunday  next  before  Mrs.  Jones's  yearly  feast.  On  May -day 
all  the  school  attended  her  to  church,  each  in  a  stuff  gown 
of  their  own  earning,  and  a  cap  and  white  apron  of  her  giv- 
ing. After  church  there  wyas  an  examination  made  into  the 
learning  and  behavior  of  the  scholars ;  those  who  were 
most  perfect  in  their  chapters,  and  who  brought  the  best 
character  for  industry,  humility,  and  sobriety,  received  a 
Bible  or  some  other  good  book. 

Now  Hester  had  been  a  whole  year  hoarding  up  her  little 
savings,  in  order  to  be  ready  with  a  new  gown  on  the  May- 
day feast.  She  had  never  •;-..!  l^ss  than  two  shillings  a  week 
by  her  spinning,  beside  working  for  the  family,  and  earning 
a  trifle  by  odd  jobs.  This  money  she  faithfully  carried  to 
her  mother  every  Saturday  night,  keeping  back  by  consent 


THE     HISTORY     O  F     HESTER     WILMOT.         181 

only  twopence^  a  week  toward  the  gown.  The  sum  was 
complete,  the  pattern  had  long  been  settled,  and  Hester  had 
only  on  the  Monday  morning  to  go  to  the  shop,  pay  her 
money,  and  bring  home  her  gown  to  be  made.  Her  mother 
happened  to  go  out  early  that  morning  to  iron  in  a  gentle- 
man's family,  where  she  usually  staid  a  day  or  two,  and 
Hester  was  busy  putting  the  house  in  order  before  she  went 
to  the  shop. 

On  that  very  Monday  there  was  to  be  a  meeting  at  the 
Bell  of  all  the  idle  fellows  in  the  parish.  John  Wilmot,  of 
course,  was  to  be  there.  Indeed  he  had  accepted  a  chal- 
lenge of  the  blacksmith  to  match  at  all-fours.  The  black- 
smith was  flush  of  money,  John  thoughl  himself  the  best 
player;  and,  that  he  might  make  sure  of  winning,  he  re- 
solved to  keep  himself  sober,  which  he  knew  was  more  than 
the  other  would  do.  John  was  so  used  to  go  upon  tick  for 
ale,  that  he  grot  to  the  door  of  the  Bell  before  he  recollected 
that  he  could  not  keep  his  word  with  the  gambler  without 
money,  ami  he  had  not,  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  so  he  sul- 
lenly turned  homeward.  He  dared  not  apply  to  his  wife,  as 
he  knew  he  should  be  more  likely  to  get  a  scratched  face 
than  a  sixpence  from  her;  but  he  knew  that  Hester  had 
received  two  shillings  for  her  last  week's  spinning  on  Sat- 
urday, and,  perhaps,  she  might  no'  yet  have  given  it  to  her 
mother,  of  the  hoarded  sum  he  knew  nothing.  He  asked 
her  if  she  could  lend  him  half  a  crown,  and  he  would  pay 
her  next  day.  Hester,  pleased  to  see  him  in  a  good  humor 
after  what  bad  passed  the  nighi  before,  ran  up  and  fe 
down  her  little'  box,  and,  in  the  joy  of  her  heart  that  he  I 

lething  she  could  comply  with  withoul  wounding 
her  conscience,  cheerfully  poured  out  her  whole  litl 
on  the  table.   John  was  in  raptures  at  th  half 

crowns  and  a  sixpence,  an  1  eagerly  seized  it,  box  an  1  ail, 
together  with   a  few  hoarded    halfpence   at    the   bottom, 


"182        THE     HISTORY     OK     HESTER     WILMOT. 

though  he  had  only  asked  to  borrow  half  a  crown.  None 
but  one  whose  heart  was  hardened  by  a  long  course  of 
drunkenness  could  have  taken  away  the  whole,  and  for  such 
a  purpose.  He  told  her  she  should  certainly  have  it  again 
next  morning,  and,  indeed,  intended  to  pay  it,  not  doubting 
but  he  should  double  the  sum.  But  John  overrated  his 
own  skill,  or  luck,  for  he  lost  every  farthing  to  the  black- 
smith, and  sneaked  home  before  midnight,  and  quietly 
walked  up  to  bed.  He  was  quite  sober,  which  Hester 
thought  a  good  sign.  Next  morning  she  asked  him,  in  a 
very  humble  way,  for  the  money,  which  she  said  she  would 
not  have  done,  but  that  if  the  gown  was  not  bought  directly 
it  would  not  be  ready  in  time  for  the  feast.  John's  con- 
science had  troubled  him  a  little  for  what  he  had  done — for 
when  he  was  not  drunk  he  was  not  ill-natured — and  he 
stammered  out  a  broken  excuse,  but  owned  he  had  lost  the 
money,  and  had  not  a  farthing  left.  The  moment  Hester 
saw  him  mild  and  kind  her  heart  was  softened,  and  she 
begged  him  not  to  vex,  adding,  that  she  would  be  contented 
never  to  have  a  new  gown  as  long  as  she  lived,  if  she  could 
have  the  comfort  of  always  seeing  him  come  home  sober  as 
he  was  last  night.  For  Hester  did  not  know  that  he  had 
refrained  from  getting  drunk,  only  that  he  might  gamble 
with  a  better  chance  of  success,  and  that  when  a  gamester 
keeps  himself  sober,  it  is  not  that  he  may  practice  a  virtue, 
but  that  he  may  commit  a  worse  crime. 

"  I  am  indeed  sorry  for  what  I  have  done,"  said  he  ;  "  you 
can  not  go  to  the  feast,  and  what  will  Madam  Jones  say  ?" 
"  Yes,  but  I  can,"  said  Hester  ;  "  for  God  looks  not  at  the 
gown,  but  at  the  heart,  and  I  am  sure  he  sees  mine  full  of 
gratitude  at  hearing  you  talk  so  kindly  ;  and  if  I  thought 
my  dear  father  would  change  his  present  evil  courses,  I 
should  be  the  happiest  girl  at  the  feast  to-morrow."  John 
walked  away  mournfully,  and  said  to  himself,  "  Surely  there 


THE     HISTORY     OP     HKSTER     WILMOT.       183 

must  be  something  in  religion,  since  it  can  thus  change  the 
heart.  Hester  was  once  a  pert  girl,  and  now  she  is  as  mild 
as  a  lamb.  She  was  once  an  indolent  girl,  and  now  she  is 
up  with  the  lark.  She  was  a  vain  girl,  and  would  do  any 
thing  for  a  new  ribbon  ;  and  now  she  is  contented  to  go  in 
rags  to  a  feast  at  which  every  one  else  is  to  have  a  new 
gown.  She  deprived  herself  of  the  gown  to  give  me  tho 
money  ;  and  yet  this  very  girl,  so  dutiful  in  some  respects, 
would  submit  to  be  turned  out  of  doors  rather  than  read  a 
loose  book  at  my  command,  or  break  the  Sabbath.  I  dt 
not  understand  this  ;  there  must  be  some  mystery  in  it." 
All  this  he  said  as  he  was  going  to  woik.  In  the  evening 
he  did  not  go  to  the  Bell  ;  whether  it  was  owing  to  his  new 
thoughts,  or  to  his  not  having  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  I  will 
not  lake  upon  me  positively  to  say;  but  I  believe  it  was  a 
little  of  one  and  a  little  of  the  other. 

As  the  pattern  of  the  intended  gown  had  long  been  set- 
tled in  the  family,  and  as  Hester  had  the  money  by  her,  it 
was  looked  on  as  good  as  bought,  so  that  she  was  trusted 
to  get  it  brought  home  and  made  in  her  mother's  absence. 
Indeed,  so  little  did  Rebecca  care  about  the  school,  that  she 
would  not  have  cared  any  thing  about  the  gown,  if  her 
vanity  had  not  made  her  wish  that  her  daughter  should  be 
the  best  dressed  of  any  girl  at  tin-  feast.  Being  from  home, 
as  was  s:iid  before,  she  knew  nothing  of  the  disappointment. 
On  May-day  morning,  Hester,  instead  of  keeping  from  the 
feast  because  she  hail  not  a  new  gown,  or  meanly  inventing 
any  excuse  for  wearing  an  old  one,  dressed  herself  out  as 
neatly  as  she  could  in  her  poor  old  things,  and  went  to  join 
the  school  in  order  to  go  to  church.  Whether  Hester  had 
formerly  indulged  a  little  pride  of  heart,  and  talked  of  i  Is 
gown  rather  too  much,  I  am  not  quite  sure;  certain  is  is, 
there  was  a  great  hue  and  cry  made  at  seeing  Hester  Wil- 
mot,  the  neatest  girl,  the  most  industrious  girl  in  the  school, 


184        THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WILMOT, 

come  to  the  May-day  feast  in  an  old  stuff  gown,  when  every 
other  girl  was  so  creditably  dressed,  [udeed,  L  am  sorry  to 
say,  there  were  two  or  three  much  too  smart  for  their  sta- 
tion, and  who  had  dizened  themselves  out  in  very  improper 
finery,  which  Mrs.  Jones  made  them  take  off  before  her 
"  I  mean  this  feast,"  said  she,  "as  a  reward  of  industry  and 
piety,  and  not  as  a  trial  of  skill  who  can  be  finest  and  out- 
vie the  rest  in  show.  If  I  do  not  take  care,  my  feast  will 
become  an  encouragement,  not  to  virtue,  but  to  vanity.  I 
am  so  great  a  friend  to  decency  of  apparel,  that  I  even  like 
to  see  you  deny  your  appetites  that  you  may  be  able  to 
come  decently  dressed  to  the  house  of  God.  To  encourage 
you  to  do  this,  I  like  to  set  apart  this  one  day  of  innocent 
pleasure,  against  which  you  may  be  preparing  all  the  year, 
by  laying  aside  something  every  week  toward  buying  a  gown 
out  of  all  your  savings.  But,  let  me  tell  you,  that  meek- 
ness and  an  humble  spirit  is  of  more  value  in  the  sight  of 
God  and  good  men,  than  the  gayest  cotton  gown,  or  the 
brightest  pink  ribbon  in  the  parish. 

Mrs.  Jones  for  all  this,  was  as  much  surprised  as  the  rest 
at  Hester's  mean  garb  ;  but  such  is  the  power  of  a  good 
character,  that  she  gave  her  credit  for  a  right  iutention, 
especially  as  she  kuew  the  unhappy  state  of  her  family. 
For  it  was  Mrs.  Jones's  way,  (and  it  is  not  a  bad  way,) 
always  to  wait,  and  inquire  into  the  truth  before  she  con- 
demned any  person  of  good  character,  though  appearances 
were  against  them.  As  we  can  not  judge  of  people's  rao- 
l;\  i,  said  she,  we  may,  from  ignorance,  often  condemn 
their  best  actions,  an  1  approve  of  their  worst-.  It  will  be 
always  time  enough  rably,  and  let  us  give 

as  long  in,  and  then  we  in  our  turn, 

may  exp  vorable  judgment  from  others,  and  remem- 

ber who  has  said,  Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged. 

Ilester  was  no  more  proud  of  what  she  had  done  for  her 


THE     HISTORY     OF    HESTER    WILMOT.        185 

father,  than  she  was  humbled  by  the  meanness  of  her  garb : 
and  notwithstanding  Betty  Stiles,  one  of  the  girls  whose 
finery  had  been  taken  away,  sneered  at  her,  Hester  never 
offered  to  clear  herself,  by  exposing  her  father,  though  she 
thought  it  right,  secretly  to  inform  Mrs.  Jones  of  what  had 
passed.  When  the  examination  of  the  girls  began,  Betty 
Stiles  was  asked  some  questions  on  the  fourth  and  fifth 
commandments,  which  she  answered  very  well.  Hester 
was  asked  nearly  the  same  questions,  and  though  she  an- 
swered them  no  better  than  Betty  had  done,  they  were  all 
surprised  to  see  Mrs.  Jones  rise  up,  and  give  a  handsome 
Bible  to  Hester,  while  she  gave  nothing  to  Betty.  This 
girl  cried  out  rather  pertly,  "  Madam,  it  is  very  hard  that 
I  have  no  book:  I  was  as  perfect  as  Hester."  "I  have 
often  told  you,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  that  religion  is  not  a  thing 
of  the  tongue  but  of  the  heart.  That  girl  gives  me  the  best 
proof  that  she  has  learned  the  fourth  commandment  to  good 
purpose,  who  persists  in  keeping  holy  the  Sabbath  day, 
though  commanded  to  break  it,  by  a  parent  whom  she 
loves.  And  that  girl  best  proves  that  she  keeps  the  fifth, 
who  gives  up  her  own  comfort,  and  clothing,  and  credit,  to 
honor  and  obey  her  father  and  moth  \  n  though  they  are 
not  sue! i  as  he  could  wish.  Betty  Stiles,  though  she  could 
answer  the  questions  so  readily,  went  abroad  last  Sunday 
when  she  should  have  been  ,-it  school,  and  refused  to  nurse 
her  sick  mother,  when  she  could  not  help  herself,  is  this 
having  learned  those  two  commandments  to  any  good  pur- 
pose ?" 

Farmer  Hoskins,  who  stood  by,  whispered  Mrs.  Jones, 
"  Well,  madam,  now  you  have  convinced  even  me  of  the 
benefit  of  a  religious  instruction;  now  I  see  th 
meaning  to  it.  I  thought  it  was  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at 
tb.'  other,  and  that  a  song  was  as  well  as  a  psalm,  but  now 
1  have  found  the  proof  of  th''  pudding  is  in  the  eating.     I 


.80        THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER    WILMOT. 

see  your  scholars  must  do  what  they  hear,  and  obey  what 
they  learn.  Why  at  this  rate,  they  will  all  be  better  ser- 
vants for  being  really  godly,  and  so  I  will  add  a  pudding  to 
next  year's  feast." 

The  pleasure  Hester  felt  in  receiving  a  new  Bible,  made 
her  forget  that  she  had  on  an  old  gown.  She  walked  to 
church  in  a  thankful  frame  :  but  how  great  was  her  joy, 
when  she  saw,  among  a  number  of  working  men,  her  own 
father  going  into  church.  As  she  passed  by  him  she  cast 
on  him  a  look  of  so  much  joy  and  affection  that  it  brought 
tears  into  his  eyes,  especially  when  he  compared  her  mean 
dress  with  that  of  the  other  girls,  aud  thought  who  had 
been  the  cause  of  it.  John,  who  had  not  been  at  church 
for  some  years,  was  deeply  struck  with  the  service.  The 
confession  with  which  it  opens  went  to  his  heart.  He  felt, 
for  the  first  time,  that  he  was  a  miserable  sinner,  and  that 
there  was  no  health  in  him.  He  now  felt  compunction  for 
sin  in  general,  though  it  was  oidy  his  ill-behavior  to  his 
daughter  which  had  brought  him  to  church.  The  sermon 
was  such  as  to  strengthen  the  impression  which  the  prayers 
had  made ;  and  when  it  was  over,  instead  of  joining  the 
ringers  (for  the  belfry  was  the  only  part  of  the  church 
John  liked,  because  it  usually  led  to  the  ale-house),  he 
quietly  walked  back  to  his  work.  It  was,  indeed,  the  best 
day's  work  he  ever  made.  He  could  not  get  out  of  his 
head  the  whole  day,  the  first  words  he  heard  at  church  : 
Wlien  the  wicked  man  turneth  away  from  his  wickedness, 
and  doelh  that  which  is  lawful  and  right,  he  shall  save  his 
soul  alive.  At  night,  instead  of  going  to  the  Bell,  he  went 
home,  intending  to  ask  Hester  to  forgive  him  ;  but  as  soon 
as  he  got  to  the  door,  he  heard  Rebecca  scolding  his 
daughter  for  having  brought  such  a  disgrace  on  the  family 
as  to  be  seen  in  that  old  rag  of  a  gown,  and  insisted  on 
knowing  what  she  had  done  with  her  money.     Hester  tried 


THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WI1MOT.       187 

to  keep  the  secret,  but  her  mother  declared  she  would  turn 
her  out  of  doors  it'  she  did  not  tell  the  truth.  Hester  was 
at  l.isi  forced  to  confess  she  hud  given  it  to  her  father. 
Unfortunately  for  poor  John,  it  was  at  this  wry  moment 
that  lie  opened  the  door.  The  mother  now  divided  her 
fury  between  her  guilty  husband  and  her  innocent  child,  til^ 
from  words  she  fell  to  blows.  John  defeade.l  his  daughter 
and  received  some  of  the  strokes  intended  for  the  poor  girl. 
This  turbulent  scene  partly  put  John's  good  resolution  to 
flight,  though  the  patience  of  Hester  did  him  almost  as 
much  good  as  the  sermon  he  had  heard.  At  length  the 
poor  girl  escaped  up  stairs,  not  a  little  bruised,  and  a  scene 
of  imieh  violence  passed  between  John  an  1  Rebecca.  She 
declared  she  would  not  sit  down  to  supper  with  such  a 
brute,  and  set  off  to  a  neighbor's  house,  that  she  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  abusing  him  the  lon*>-er.  John,  whose 
mind  was  much  disturbed,  went  up  stairs  without  his  supper. 
As  he  was'  passing  by  Hester's  little  room  he  heard  her 
voice,  and  as  he  concluded  she  was  venting  bitter  complaints 
against  her  unnatural  parents,  he  stopped  to  listen,  resolved 
to  go  in  and  comfort  her.  He  stopped  at  the  door,  for,  by 
the  light  of  the  moon,  he  saw  her  kneeling  by  her  bedside, 
and  praying  so  earnestly  that  she  did  not  hear  him.  As  In; 
made  sure  she  could  be  praying  lor  nothing  but  his  death, 
what  was  her  surprise  to  hear  these  words  :  "  0  Lord  have 
mercy  upon  my  dear  father  and  mother,  teach  me  to  love 
them,  to  pray  for  them,  and  do  them  good  ;  make  me  more 
dutiful  and  more  patient,  that,  adorning  the  doctrine  of  God, 
my  Saviour,  I  may  recommend  his  holy  religion,  and  my 
dear  parents  may  be  brought  to  love  and  far  thee,  through 
Jesus  Christ." 

Poor  John,  who  would  never  have  been  hard-hearted  if 
he  had  not  been  a  drunkard,  could  not  stand  this ;  he  fell 
down  on  his  knees,  embraced  his  child,  and   be"--.  ,1   her  to 


188        THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WILMOT. 

teach  him  how  to  pray.  He  prayed  himself  as  well  as  ho 
could,  and  though  he  did  not  know  what  words  to  use,  yet 
his  heart  was  melted  ;  he  owned  he  was  a  sinner,  and  beg- 
ged Hester  to  fetch  the  prayer-book,  and  read  over  the  con- 
fession with  which  he  had  been  so  struck  at  church.  This 
was  the  pleasantest  order  she  had  ever  obeyed.  Seeing  him 
deeply  affected  with  a  sense  of  sin,  she  pointed  out  to  him 
the  Saviour  of  sinners ;  and  in  this  manner  she  passed 
some  hours  with  her  father,  which  were  the  happiest  of  her 
life :  such  a  night  was  worth  a  hundred  cotton^or  even  silk 
gowns.  In  the  course  of  the  week  Hester  read  over  the 
confession,  and  some  other  prayers  to  her  father  so  often 
that  he  got  them  by  heart,  and  repeated  them  while  he  was 
at  work.  She  next  taught  him  the  fifty-first  psalm.  At 
length  he  took  courage  to  kneel  down  and  pray  before  he 
went  to  bed.  From  that  time  he  bore  his  wife's  ill-humor 
much  better  than  he  had  ever  done,  and,  as  he  knew  her  to  be 
neat,  and  notable,  and  saving,  he  began  to  think,  that  if  her 
temper  was  not  quite  so  bad,  his  home  might  still  become 
as  pleasant  a  place.to  him  as  ever  the  Bell  had  been  ;  but 
uuless  she  became  more  tractable  he  did  not  know  what  to 
do  with  his  long  evenings  after  the  little  ones  were  in  bed, 
for  he  began,  once  more,  to  delight  in  playing  with  them. 
Hester  proposed  that  she  herself  should  teach  him  to  read 
an  hour  every  night,  and  he  consented.  Rebecca  began  to 
storm,  from  the  mere  trick  she  had  got  of  storming;  but 
finding  that  he  now  brought  home  all  his  earnings,  and  that 
she  got  both  his  money  and  his  company  (for  she  had  once 
loved  him),  she  began  to  reconcile  herself  to  this  new  way 
of  life.  In  a  few  months  John  could  read  a  psalm.  In 
learning  to  read  it  he  also  got  it  by  heart,  and  this  proved 
a  little  store  for  private  devotion,  and  while  he  was  mowing 
or  reaping,  he  could  call  to  mind  a  text  to  cheer  his  labor. 
He  now  went  constantly  to  church,  and  often  dropped  in  at 


THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WILMOT.         189 

the  school  on  a  Sunday  evening  to  hear  their  prayers.  He 
expressed  so  much  pleasure  at  this,  that  one  day  Hester 
ventured  to  ask  him  if  they  should  set  up  family  prayer  at 
home  ?  John  said  he  should  like  it  mightily,  but  as  he  could 
not  yet  read  quite  well  enough,  he  desired  Hester  to  try  to 
get  a  proper  book  and  begin  next  Sunday  night.  Hester  had 
bought  of  a  pious  hawker,  for  three  half  pence,*  the  Book 
of  Prayers,  printed  for  the  Cheap  Repository,  and  knew  she 
should  there  find  something  suitable. 

When  Hester  read  the  exhortation  at  the  beginning  of 
this  little  book,  her  mother  who  sat  in  the  corner,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  asleep,  was  so  much  struck  that  she  could  not 
find  a  word  to  say  against  it.  For  a  few  nights,  indeed,  she 
continued  to  sit  still,  or  pretended  to  rock  the  young  child 
while  her  husband  and  daughter  were  kneeling  at  their 
prayers.  She  expected  John  would  have  scolded  her  for 
this,  and  so  perverse  was  her  temper,  that  she  was  disap- 
pointed at  his  finding  no  fault  with  her.  Seeing  at  last  that 
he  was  very  patient,  and  that  though  he  prayed  fervently 
himself  he  suffered  her  to  do  as  she  liked,  she  lost  the  spirit 
of  opposition  for  want  of  something  to  provoke  it.  As  her 
pride  began  to  be  subdued,  some  little  disposition  to  piety 
was  awakened  in  her  heart.  By  degrees  she  slid  down  on 
her  knees,  though  at  first  it  was  behind  the  cradle,  or  the 
clock,  or  in  some  corner  where  she  thought  they  would  not 
see  her.  Hester  rejoiced  even  in  this  outward  change  in 
her  mother,  and  prayed  that  God  would  at  last  be  pleased 
to  touch  her  heart  as  lie  had  done  that  of  her  father. 

As  John  now  spent  no  idle  money,  he  had  saved  up  a 
trifle  by  working  over-hours;  this  he  kindly  offered  to  Hes- 
ter to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  her  gown.  Instead  of  accept- 
ing it,  Hester  told  him,  thai  as  she  herself  was  young  and 

*  These  prayers  may  bo  had  also  divided  into  two  parts,  one  lit  foi 
private  persons,  the  other  for  *amilies,  price  one  halfpenny. 


190      THE     HISTORY     OF     HESTER     WILMOT.    * 

healthy,  she  could  soon  be  able  to  clothe  herself  out  of  her 
own  savings,  and  begged  him  to  make  her  mother  a  present 
of  this  gown,  which  he  did.  It  had  been  a  maxim  of  Re- 
becca,  that  it  was  better  not  to  go  to  church  at  all,  than  go 
in  an  old  gown.  She  had,  however,  so  far  conquered  this 
evil  notion,  that  she  had  lately  gone  pretty  often.  This 
kindness  of  the  gown  touched  her  not  a  little,  and  the  first 
Sunday  she  put  it  on,  Mr.  Simpson  happened  to  preach 
from  this  text,  God  resisteth  the  proud  but  giveth  grace  to 
the  humble.  This  sermon  so  affected  Rebecca  that  she 
never  once  thought  she  had  her  new  gown  on,  till  she  came 
to  take  it  off  when  she  went  to  bed,  and  that  very  night  in- 
stead of  skulking  behind,  she  knelt  down  by  her  husband, 
and  joined  in  prayer  with  much  fervor. 

There,  was  one  thing  sunk  deep  in  Rebecca's  mind  ;  she 
had  observed  that  since  her  busband  had  grown  religious 
he  had  been  so  careful  not  to  give  her  any  offense,  that  he 
was  become  scrupulously  clean;  took  off  his  dirty  shoes  be- 
fore he  sat  down,  and  was  very  cautious  not  to  spill  a  drop 
of  beer  on  her  shining  table.  Now  it  was  rather  remarka- 
ble,  that  as  John  grew  more  neat,  Rebecca  grew  more  indif- 
ferent to  neatness.  But  both  these  changes  arose  from  tl  e 
same  cause,  the  growth  of  religion  in  their  hearts.  John 
grew  cleanly  from  the  fear  of  giving  pain  to  his  wife,  while 
Rebecca  grew  indifferent  from  having  discovered  the  sin 
and  folly  of  an  over-anxious  care  about  trifles.  "When  the 
heart  is  once  given  up  to  God,  such  vanities  in  a  good  de- 
gree die  of  themselves. 

Hester  continues  to  grow  in  grace,  and  in  knowledge. 
Last  Ch list m as-day  she  was  appointed  under  teacher  in  the 
school,  and  many  people  think  that  some  years  hence,  if 
any  thing  should  happen  to  Mrs.  Crew,  Hester  may  be  pro- 
moled  to  be  head  mistress. 


BETTY    BROWN, 

THE    ST.   GILES'S   ORANGE    GIRL: 

WITH  SOME   ACCOUNT  OF  MRS.    SPONGE,    THE   MONEY-LENDKB, 


5 


Betty  Brown,  the  orange  girl,  was  born  nobody  knows 
where,  and  bred  nobody  knows  how.  No  girl  in  all  the 
streets  of  London  could  drive  a  barrow  more  nimbly,  avoid 
pushing  against  passengers  more  dexterously,  or  cry  her 
"  fine  China  oranges"  in  a  shriller  voice.  But  then  she 
could  neither  sew,  nor  spin,  nor  knit,  nor  wash,  nor  iron,  nor 
read,  nor  spell.  Betty  had  not  been  always  iu  so  good  a  situa- 
tion as  that  in  which  we  now  describe  her.  She  came  into 
the  world  before  so  many  good  gentlemen  and  ladies  began 
to  concern  themselves  so  kindly,  that  the  poor  girl  might 
have  a  little  learning.  There  was  no  charitable  society 
then  as  there  is  now,  to  pick  up  poor  friendless  children  in 
the  streets,*  and  put  them  into  a  good  house,  and  give 
them  meat,  and  drink,  and  lodging,  and  learning,  and 
teach  them  to  get  their  bread  in  an  honest  way,  into  the 
bargain.  Whereas,  this  now  is  often  the  case  in  London; 
blessed  be  God,  who  has  ordered  the  bovnds  of  our  habita- 
tion, and  cast  our  lot  in  such  a  country  ! 

The  longest  thing  thai  Betty  can  remember  is,  thai  she 
used  to  crawl  up  out  of  .a  night  cellar,  stroll  about  tin- 
streets,    and     pick     cinders    from    the    scavengers'    carts, 

*  The  Philanthropic. 


192  *  BETTV     BROWN 

Among  the  ashes  she  sometimes  found  some  ragged 
gauze  and  dirty  riband'..;  with  these  she  used  to  dizen 
herself  out,  and  join  the  merry  bands  on  the  first  of  May. 
This  was  not,  however,  quite  fair,  as  she  did  not  lawfully 
belong  either  to  the  female  dancers,  who  foot  it  gayly 
round  the  garland,  or  to  the  sooty  tribe,  who,  on  this  happy 
holiday,  forget  their  year's  toil  in  Portman  square,  cheer- 
ed by  the  tender  bounty  of  her  whose  wit  has  long  enliven- 
ed the  most  learned,  and  whose  tastes  and  talents  long 
adorned  the  most  polished  societies.  Betty,  however,  often 
got  a  few  scraps,  by  appearing  to  belong  to  both  parties. 
But  as  she  grew  bigger  and  was  not  an  idle  girl,  she  always 
put  herself  in  the  way  of  doing  something.  She  would 
run  of  errands  for  the  footmen,  or  sweep  the  door  for  the 
maid  of  any  house  where  she  was  known ;  she  would  run 
and  fetch  some  porter,  and  never  was  once  known  either  to 
sip  a  drop  by  the  way,  or  steal  the  pot.  Her  quickness  and 
fidelity  in  doing  little  jobs,  got  her  into  favor  with  a  lazy 
cook-maid,  who  was  too  apt  to  give  away  her  master's  cold 
meat  and  beer,  not  to  those  who  were  most  in  want,  but  to 
those  who  waited  upon  her,  and  did  the  little  things  for  her 
which  she  ought  to  have  done  herself. 

The  cook,  who  found  Betty  a  dexterous  girl,  soon  em- 
ployed her  to  sell  ends  of  candles,  pieces  of  meat  and 
cheese,  the  lumps  of  butter,  or  any  thing  else  she  could 
crib  from  the  house.  These  were  all  carried  to  her  friend, 
Mrs.  Sponge,  who  kept  a  little  shop,  and  a  kind  of  eating- 
house  for  poor  working  people,  not  far  from  the  Seven  Dials. 
She  also  bought  as  well  as  sold,  many  kinds  of  second-hand 
things,  and  was  not  scrupulous  to  know  whether  what  she 
bought  wras  honestly  come  by,  provided  she  could  get_  it 
for  a  sixth  part  of  what  it  was  .worth.  But  if  the  owner 
presumed  to  ask  for  its  real  value,  then  she  had  sudden 
qualms  of  conscience,  instantly  suspected  the   things  were 


the    st.    Giles's    orange    girl.  193 

stolen,  and  gave  herself  airs  of  honesty,  which  often  took 
in  poor  silly  people,  and  gave  her  a  sort  of  half  reputation 
among  the  needy  and  ignorant,  whose  friend  she  hypocriti- 
cally pretended  to  be. 

To  this  artful  woman  Betty  carried  the  cook's  pilferings ; 
and  as  Mrs.  Sponge  would  give  no  great  price  for  these  in 
money,  the  cook  was  willing  to  receive  payment  for  her  eat- 
ables in  Mrs.  Sponge's  drinkables;  for  she  dealt  in  all  kinds 
of  spirits.  I  shall  only  just  remark  here,  that  one  receiver, 
like  Mrs.  Sponge,  makes  many  pilferers,  who  are  tempted  to 
commit  these  petty  thieveries,  by  knowing  how  easy  it  is  to 
dispose  of  them  at  such'  iniquitous  houses. 

Betty  was  faithful  to  both  her  employers,  which  is  extra- 
ordinary, considering  the  greatness  of  the  temptation  and 
her  utter  ignorance  of  good  and  evil.  One  day  she  ventured 
to  ask  Mrs.  Sponge,  if  she  could  not  assist  her  to  get  into  a 
more  settled  way  of  life.  She  told  her  that  when  she  rose  in 
the  morning  she  never  knew  where  she  should  lie  at  night, 
nor  was  she  ever  sure  of  a  meal  beforehand.  Mrs.  Sponge 
asked  her  what  she  thought  herself  fit  for.  Betty,*with  fear 
and  trembling,  said  there  was  one  trade  for  which  she 
thought  herself  qualified,  but  she  had  not  the  ambition  to 
look  so  high — it  was  far  ahove  her  humble  views — that  was, 
to  have  a  barrow,  and  sell  fruit,  as  several  other  of  Mrs. 
Sponge's  customers  did,  whom  she  had  often  looked  up  to 
with  envy,  little  expecting  herself  ever  to  attain  so  independ- 
ent a  station. 

Mrs.  Sponge  was  an  artful  woman.  Bad  as  she  was,  she 
was  always  aiming  at  something  of  a  character  ;  this  was  a 
great  help  to  her  trade.  While  she  watched  keenly  to 
make  every  thing  turn  to  her  own  profit,  she  had  a  false 
fawning  way  of  seeming  to  do  all  she  did  out  of  pity  and 
kindness  to  the  distressed  ;  and  she  seldom  committed  an 
extortion,  but  she  tried  to  make  the  persons  she  cheated 

9 


194  BETTY     BROWN, 

believe  themselves  highly  obliged  to  her  kindness.  By  thus 
pretending  to  be  their  friend,  she  gained  their  confidence; 
and  she  grew  rich  herself,  while  they  thought  she  was  only 
showing  favor  to  them.  Various  were  the  arts  she  had  01 
getting  rich ;  and  the  money  she  got  by  grinding  the  poor, 
she  spent  in  the  most  luxurious  living;  while  she  would 
haggle  with  her  hungry  customers  for  a  farthing,  she  would 
spend  pounds  on  the  most  costly  delicacies  for  herself. 

Mrs.  Sponge,  laying  aside  that  haughty  look  and  voice, 
well  known  to  such  as  had  the  misfortune  to  be  in  her  debt, 
put  on  the  hypocritical  smile  and  soft  canting  tone,  which 
she  always  assumed,  when  she  meant  to  natter  her  superiors, 
or  take  in  her  dependents.  "  Betty,"  said  she,  "  I  am  re- 
solved to  stand  your  friend.  These  are  sad  times  to  be  sure. 
Money  is  money  now.  Yet  I  am  resolved  to  put  you  in  a 
handsome  way  of  living.  You  shall  have  a  barrow,  and 
well  furnished  too."  Betty  could  not  have  felt  more  joy  or 
gratitude,  if  she  had  been  told  that  she  should  have  a  coach. 
"  O,  madam,"  said  Betty,  "  it  is  impossible.  I  have  not  a 
penny  in  the  world  toward  helping  me  to  set  up."  "  I  will 
take  care  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Sponge  ;  "  only  you  must  do 
as  I  bid  you.  You  must  pay  me  interest  for  my  money ; 
and  you  will,  of  course,  be  glad  also  to  pay  so  much  every 
night  for  a  nice  hot  supper  which  I  get  ready  quite  out  of 
kindness,  for  a  number  of  poor  working  people.  This  will 
be  a  great  comfort  for  such  a  friendless  girl  as  you,  for  my 
victuals  and  drink  are  the  best,  and  my  company  the  mer- 
riest of  any  in  all  St.  Giles's."  Betty  thought  all  this  only  so 
many  more  favors,  and  curtseying  to  the  ground,  said,  "  To 
be  sure,  ma'am,  and  thank  you  a  thousand  times  into  the 
bargain.     I  never  could  hope  for  such  a  rise  in  life." 

'Mrs.  Sponge  knew  what  she  was  about.  Betty  was  a 
lively  girl,  who  had  a  knack  at  learning  any  thing ;  and  so 
well  looking  through  all  her  dirt  and  rags,  that  there  was 


the   st.   Giles's    orange    girl.         195 

little  doubt  she/would  get  custom.  A  barrow  was  soon  pro- 
vided, and  five  shillings  put  into  Betty's  bands.  Mrs. 
Sponge  kindly  condescended  to  go  to  show  her  how  to  buy 
the  fruit ;  for  it  was  a  rule  with  this  prudent  gentlewoman, 
and  one  from  which  she  never  departed,  that  no  one  should 
cheat  but  herself ;  and  suspecting  from  her  own  heart  the 
fraud  of  all  other  dealers,  she  was  seldom  guilty  of  the 
weakness  of  being  imposed  upon. 

Betty  had  never  possessed  such  a  sum  before.  She 
grudged  to  lay  it  out  all  at  once,  and  was  ready  to  fancy  she 
could  live  upon  the  capital.  The  crown,  however,  was  laid 
out  to  the  best  advantage.  Betty  was  carefully  taught  in 
what  manner  to  cry  her  oranges;  and  received  many  useful 
lessons  how  to  get  off  the  bad  with  the  good,  and  the  stale 
with  the  fresh.  Mrs.  Sponge  also  lent  her  a  few  bad  six- 
pences, for  which  she  ordered  her  to  bring  home  good  ones 
at  night.  Betty  stared.  Mrs.  Sponge  said,  "  Betty,  those 
who  would  get  money,  must  not  be  too  nice  about  trifles. 
Keep  one  of  these  sixpences  in  your  hand,  and  if  an  ignor- 
ant young  customer  gives  you  a  good  sixpence,  do  you 
immediately  slip  it  into  your  other  hand,  and  give  him  the 
bad  one,  declaring  that  it  is  the  very  one  you  have  just  re- 
ceived, and  be  ready  to  swear  that  you  have  not  another 
sixpence  in  the  world.  You  must  also  learn  how  to  treat 
different  sorts  of  customers.  To  some  you  may  put  off, 
with  safety,  goods  which  would  be  quite  unsaleable  to  others. 
Never  offer  had  fruit,  Betty,  to  those  who  know  better; 
never  waste  the  good  on  those  who  may  be  put  off  with 
worse ;  put  good  oranges  at  top  to  attract  the  eye,  and  the 
mouldy  ones  under  for  sale" 

Poor  Betty  had  not  a  nice  conscience,  for  she  had  never 
learned  that  grand,  but  simple  rule  of  all  moral  obligation, 
Never  do  that  to  another  which  you  would  not  have  another 
do  to  you.     She  set  off  with  her  barrow,  as  proud  and  as 


196  BETTY     BROWN, 

happy  as  if  she  had  been  set  up  in  the  first  shop  in  Covent 
Garden.  Betty  had  a  sort  of  natural  good  temper,  which 
made  her  unwilling  to  impose,  but  she  had  no  principle 
which  told  her  it  was  sin  to  do  so.  She  had  such  good 
success,  that  when  night  came,  she  had  not  an  orange  left. 
Willi  a  light  heart  she  drove  her  empty  barrow  to  Mrs. 
Sponge's  door.  She  went  in  with  a  merry  face,  and  threw 
down  on  the  counter  every  farthing  she  had  taken.  "  Bet- 
ty," said  Mrs.  Sponge,  "  I  have  a  right  to  it  all,  as  it  was 
got  by  my  money.  But  I  am  too  generous  to  take  it.  I 
will  therefore  only  take  a  sixpence  for  this  day's  use  of  my 
five  shillings.  This  is  a  most  reasonable  interest,  and  I  will 
lend  you  the  same  sum  to  trade  with  to-morrow,  and  so  on  ; 
you  only  paying  me  sixpence  for  the  use  of  it  every  night, 
which  will  be  a  great  bargain  to  you.  You  must  also  pay  me 
my  price  every  night  for  your  supper,  and  you  shall  have  an 
excellent  lodging  above  stairs;  so  you  see  every  thing  will 
now  be  provided  for  you  in  a  genteel  manner,  through  my 
generosity."  * 

Poor  Betty's  gratitude  blinded  her  so  completely,  that  she 
had  forgot  to  calculate  the  vast  proportion  which  this  gener- 
ous benefactress  was  to  receive  out  of  her  little  gains.  She 
thought  herself  a  happy  creature,  and  went  in  to  supper  with 
a  number  of  others  of  her  own  class.  For  this  supper,  and  for 
more  porter  and  gin  than  she  ought  to  have  drunk,  Betty 
was  forced  to  pay  so  high  that  it  ate  up  all  the  profits  of 
the  day,  which,  added  to  the  daily  interest,  made  Mrs. 
Sponge  a  rich  return  for  her  five  shillings. 

Betty  was  reminded  again  of  the  gentility  of  her  new 
situation,  as  she  crept  up  to  bed  in  one  of  Mrs.  Sponge's 
garrets,  five  stories  high.    This  loft,  to  be  sure,  was  small  and 

*  For  an  authentic  account  of  numberless  frauds  of  this  kind,  see 
that  very  useful  work  of  Mr.  Colquhoun  on  the  "  Police  of  the  Me- 
tropolis of  London." 


the   ST.    Giles's   orange    girl.         197 

had  no  window,  but  what  it  wanted  in  light  was  made  up 
in  company,  as  it  had  three  beds  and  thrice  as  many  lodg- 
ers. Those  gentry  had  one  night,  in  a  drunken  frolic, 
broken  down  the  door,  which  happily  had  never  been  re- 
placed ;  for  since  that  time,  the  lodgers  had  died  much 
seldomer  of  infectious  distempers,  than  when  they  were  close 
shut  in.  For  this  lodging  Betty  paid  twice  as  much  to  her 
good  friend  as  she  would  have  done  to  a  stranger.  Thus 
she  continued  with  great  industry  and  a  thriving  trade,  as 
•poor  as  on  the  first  day,  and  not  a  bit  nearer  to  saving  mo- 
ney enough  to  buy  her  even  a  pair  of  shoes,  though  hei 
feet  were  nearly  on  the  ground.  .      , 

One  day,  as  Betty  was  driving  her  barrow  through  a 
street  near  Holhorn,  a  lady  from  a  window  called  out  to 
her  that  she  wanted  some  oranges.  While  the  servant  went 
to  fetch  a  plate,  the  lady  entered  into  some  talk  with  Betty, 
havino-  been  struck  with  her  honest  countenance  and  civil 
manner.  She  questioned  her  as  to  her  way  of  life,  and  the 
profits  of  her  trade ;  and  Betty,  who  had  never  been  so 
kindly  treated  before  by  so  genteel  a  person,  was  very  com- 
municative. She  told  her  little  history  as  tar  as  she  knew 
it,  and  dwelt  much  on  the  generosity  of  Mrs.  Sponge,  io 
keeping  her  in  her  house,  and  trusting  her  with  so  large  a 
capital  as  five  shillings.  At  first  it  sounded  like  a  very 
good-natured  thing;  but  the  lady,  whose  husband  was  one 
of  the  justices  of  the  new  police,  happened  to  know  more 
of  Mrs.  Sponge  than  was  good,  which  led  her  to  inquire 
still  further.  Betty  owned,  that  to  he  sure  it  was  not  all 
clear  profit,  tor  that  besides  that  the  high  price  of  the  sup- 
per and  I'ed  ran  away  with  all  she  got,  she  paid  sixp 
a-day  for  the  use  of  the  five  shillings."  "  And  how  long 
have  you  done  this?"  said  the  lady.  "About  a  year, 
madam." 

The  lady's  eyes  were  at  once  opened.     "  My  poor  girl," 


198  BETTY     BROWN, 

said  she,  "  do  you  know  that  you  have  already  paid  for  that 
single  five  shillings  the  enormous  sum  of  £7  10s.?  I  be- 
lieve it  is  the  most  profitable  five  shillings  Mrs.  Sponge  ever 
laid  out."  "O  no,  madam,"  said  the  girl,  "  that  good  gen- 
tlewoman does  the  same  kindness  to  ten  or  twelve  other 
poor  friendless  creatures  like  me."  "  Does  she  so  V  said 
the  lady ;  "  then  I  never  heard  of  a  more  lucrative  trade 
thau  this  woman  carries  on,  under  the  mask  of  charity,  at 
the  expense  of  her  poor  deluded  fellow-creatures." 

"  But,  madam,"  said  Betty,  who  did  not  comprehend 
this  lady's  arithmetic,  "  what  can  I  do  ?  I  now  contrive 
to  pick  up  a  morsel  of  bread  without  begging  or  stealing. 
Mrs.  Sponge  lias  been  very  good  to  me  ;  and  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  help  myself." 

"  1  will  tell  you,"  said  the  lady  ;  "  if  you  will  follow  my 
advice,  you  may  not  only  maintain  yourself  honestly  but 
independently.  Only  oblige  yourself  to  live  hard  for  a  little 
time,  till  you  have  saved  five  shillings  out  of  your  own 
earnings,  (•'we  up  that  expensive  supper  at  night,  drink 
only  one  pint  of  porter,  and  no  gin  at  all.  As  soon  as 
you  have  scr.sped  together  the  five  shillings,  carry  it  back 
to  your  false  1"  iend  ;  and  if  you  are  industrious,  you  will,  at 
the  end  of  the  year,  have  saved  £7  10s.  If  you  can  make 
a  shift  to  live  now,  when  you  have  this  heavy  interest  to 
pay,  judge  how  things  will  mend  when  your  capital  be- 
comes your  own.  You  will  put  some  clothes  on  your  back  ; 
and,  by  leaving  the  use  of  spirits,  and  the  company  in  which 
you  drink  them,  your  health,  your  morals,  and  your  con- 
dition will  mend." 

The  lady  did  not  talk  thus  to  save  her  money.  She 
would  willingly  have  given  the  girl  the  five  shillings  ;  but 
she  thought  it  was  beginning  at  the  wrong  end.  She  wanted 
to  try  her.  Beside,  she  knew  there  was  more  pleasure,  as 
well  as  honor,  in  possessing  five  shillings  of  one's  own  sav- 


the   st.   Giles's   orange   girl.         199 

ing,  than  of  another's  giving.  Betty  promised  to  obey. 
She  owned  she  had  got  no  good  by  the  company  or  the 
liquor  at  Mrs.  Sponge's.  She  promised  that  very  night  to 
begin  saving  the  expense  of  the  supper ;  and  that  she 
would  not  taste  a  drop  of  gin  till  she  had  the  five  shillings 
beforehand.  The  lady,  who  knew  the  power  of  good  habits, 
was  contented  with  this,  thinking,  that  if  the  girl  could 
abstain  for  a  certain  time,  it  would  become  easy  to  her. 
She  therefore,  at  present,  said  little  about  the  sin  of  drink- 
ing, and  only  insisted  on  the  expense  of  it. 

In  a  very  few  weeks  Betty  had  saved  up  the  five  shillings. 
She  went  to  carry  back  this  money  with  great  gratitude  to 
Mrs.  Sponge.  This  kind  friend-  began  to  abuse  her  most 
unmercifully.  She  called  her  many  hard  names,  not  fit  to 
repeat,  for  having  forsaken  the  supper,  by  which  she  swore 
she  herself  got  nothing  at  all ;  but  as  she  had  the  chanty 
to  dress  it  for  such  beggarly  wretches,  she  insisted  they 
should  pay  for  it,  whether  they  eat  it  or  not.  She  also 
brought  in  a  heavy  score  for  lodging,  though  Betty  had 
paid  for  it  every  night,  and  had  given  notice  of  her  intend- 
ing to  quit  her.  By  all  these  false  pretenses,  she  got  from 
her,  not  only  her  own  five  shillings,  but  all  the  little  capi- 
tal with  which  Betty  was  going  to  set  up  for  herself.  All 
was  not  sufficient  to  answer  her  demands — die  declared  she 
would  send  her  to  prison  ;  but  while  she  went  to  call  a  con- 
stable, Betty  contrived  to  make  off. 

With  a  light  pocket  and  a  heavy  heart  she  went  back  to 
the  lady;  and  witli  many  tears  told  her  sad  story.  The 
lady's  husband,  the  justice,  condescended  to  listen  to  Betty's 
tale,  lb-  said  Mrs.  Sponge  bad  long  been  upon  bis  books 
as  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods.  Betty's  evid en  :e  strengthened 
his  bad  opinion  of  her.  "  This  petty  system  of  usury,"  said 
the  magistrate,  "  may  bo  thought  trilling  ;  but  it  will  no 
longer  appear  so,  when  you  reflect  that  if  one  of  these  fe- 


200  BETTY     BROWN, 

male  sharpers  possesses  a  capital  of  seventy  shillings,  01 
£3  10s.,  with  fourteen  steady  regular  customers,  she  can 
realize  a  fixed  income  of  one  hundred  guineas  a  year.  Add 
to  this  the  influence  such  a  loan  gives  her  over  these  friend- 
less creatures,  hy  compelling  them  to  eat  at  her  house,  or 
lodge,  or  huy  liquors,  or  by  taking  their  pawns,  and  you 
will  see  the  extent  of  the  evil.  I  pity  these  poor  victims : 
you,  Betty,  shall  point  out  some  of  them  to  me.  I  will  en- 
deavor to  open  their  eyes  on  their  own  bad  management. 
It  is  not  by  giving  to  the  importunate  shillings  and  half- 
crowns,  and  turning:  them  adrift  to  wait  for  the  next  acci- 
dental  relief,  that  much  good  is  done.  It  saves  trouble,  in-' 
deed,  but  that  trouble  being  the  most  valuable  part  of 
charity,  ought  not  to  be  spared  ;  at  least  by  those  who  have 
leisure  as  well  as  affluence.  It  is  one  of  the  greatest  acts 
of  kindness  to  the  poor  to  mend  their  economy,  and  to  give 
them  right  views  of  laying  out  their  little  money  to  advan- 
tage. These  poor  blinded  creatures  look  no  further  than 
to  be  able  to  pay  this  heavy  interest  every  night,  and  to  ob- 
tain the  same  loan  on  the  same  hard  terms  the  next  day. 
Thus  they  are  kept  in  poverty  and  bondage  all  their  lives ; 
but  I  hope  as  many  as  hear  of  this  will  go  on  a  better  plan, 
and  I  shall  be  ready  to  help  any  who  are  willing  to  help 
themselves."  This  worthy  magistrate  went  directly  to  Mrs. 
Sponge's  with  proper  officers  ;  and  he  soon  got  to  the  bot- 
tom of  many  iniquities.  lie  not  only  made  her  refund  poor 
Betty's  money,  but  committed  her  to  prison  for  receiving 
stolen  goods,  and  various  other  offenses,  which  may,  per- 
haps, make  the  subject  of  another  history. 

Betty  was  now  set  up  in  trade  to  her  heart's  content. 
She  had  found  the  benefit  of  leaving  off  spirits,  and  she  re- 
solved to  drink  them  no  more.  The  first  fruits  of  this  reso- 
lution was,  that  in  a  fortnight  she  bought  her  a  pair  of  new 
shoes ;  and  as  there  was  now  no  deduction  for  interest,  or 


the   st.    Giles's    orange    girl.  201 

for  gin,  rier  earnings  became  considerable.  Tbe  lady  made 
her  a  present  of  a  gown  and  a  hat,  on  the  easy  condition 
that  she  should  go  to  church.  She  accepted  tbe  terms,  at 
first  rather  as  an  act  of  obedience  to  the  lady  than  from  a 
sense  of  higher  duty.  But  she  so  on  began  to  go  from  a 
better  motive.  This  constant  attendance  at  church,  joined 
to  the  instructions  of  the  lady,  opened  a  new  world  to  Betty. 
She  now  heard,  for  the  first  time,  that  she  was  a  sinner  ; 
that  God  had  given  a  law  which  was  holy,  just,  and  good  ; 
that  she  had  broken  this  law,  had  been  a  swearer,  a  Sab- 
bath-breaker, and  had  lived  without  God  in  the  world.  All 
this  was  sad  news  to  Betty  ;  she  knew,  indeed,  before,  that 
there  were  sinners,  but  she  thought  they  were  only  to  be 
found  in  the  prisons,  or  at  Botany  Bay,  or  in  those  mournful 
carts  which  she  had  sometimes  followed  with  her  barrow, 
with  the  unthinking  crowd,  to  Tyburn.  She  was  deeply 
struck  with  the  great  truths  revealed  in  the  Scripture, 
which  were  quite  new  to  her ;  her  heart  smote  her,  and 
she  became  anxious  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come.  She 
was  desirous  of  improvement,  and  said,  "she  would  give  up 
all  the  profits  of  her  barrow,  and  go  into  the  hardest  ser- 
vice, rather  than  live  in  sin  and  ignorance." 

"Betty,"  said  the  lady,  "I  am  glad  to  sec  you  so  well 
disposed,  and  will  do  what  I  can  for  you.  Your  present 
way  of  life,  to  be  sure,  exposes  you  to  much  danger  ;  but 
the  trade  is  nol  unlawful  in  itself,  and  we  may  please  God 
in  any  calling,  provided  it  be  not  a  dishonest  one.  In  this 
great  town  there  must  be  barrow-women  to  sell  fruit.  Do 
you,  then,  instead  of  forsaking  your  business,  set  a  good 
example  to  those  in  it,  and  show  them,  thai  though  a  dan- 
gerous trade,  it  need  not  be  a  wicked  one.  Till  Providence 
points  out  some  safer  wmv  of  getting  your  bread,  lei  your 
companions  see  that  it  is  possible  to  bo  good  even  in  this. 
Your  trade  being  carried  on  in  the  open,  street,  and  your 

9* 


202  BETTY     BROWN, 

fruit  bought  in  an  open  shop,  you  are  not  so  much  obliged 
to  keep  sinful  company  as  may  be  thought.  Take  a  garret 
in  an  honest  house,  to  which  you  may  go  home  in  safety 
at  night.  I  will  give  you  a  bed,  and  a  few  necessaries  to 
furnish  your  room  ;  and  I  will  also  give  you  a  constant 
Sunday's  dinner.  A  barrow-woman,  blessed  he  God  and 
our  good  laws,  is  as  much  her  own  mistress  on  Sundays 
as  a  duchess ;  and  the  church  and  the  Bible  are  as  much 
open  to  her.  You  may  soon  learn  as  much  of  religion  as 
you  are  expected  to  know.  A  barrow-woman  may  pray  as 
heartily  morning  and  night,  and  serve  God  as  acceptably 
all  lay,  while  she  is  carrying  on  her  little  trade,  as  if  she 
hs'd  her  whole  time  to  spare. 

"  To  do  this  well,  you  must  mind  the  following 

RULES    FOR    RETAIL   DEALERS. 

"  Resist  every  temptation  to  cheat. 

"  Never  impose  bad  goods  on  false  pretenses. 

"  Never  put  off  bad  money  for  good. 

"  Never  use  profane  or  uncivil  language. 

"  Never  swear  your  goods  cost  so  much,  when  you  know 
it  is  false.  By  so  doing  you  are  guilty  of  two  sins  in  one 
breath,  a  lie  and  an  oath. 

"  To  break  these  rules  will  be  your  chief  temptation. 
God  will  mark  how  you  behave  under  them,  and  will  re- 
ward or  punish  you  accordingly.  These  temptations  will 
be  as  great  to  you,  as  higher  trials  are  to  higher  people ; 
but  you  have  the  same  God  to  look  to  for  strength  to  resist 
them  as  they  have.  You  must  pray  to  him  to  give  you 
this  strength.  You  shall  attend  a  Sunday  School,  where; 
you  will  be  taught  these  good  things;  and  1  will  promote 
you  as  you  shall  be  found  to  deserve." 

Poor  Betty  here  burst  into  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude, 
crying  out,   "  What !  shall  such  a  poor  friendless  creature 


the   st.    Giles's   orange   girl.         203 

as  I  be  treated  so  kindly,  and  learn  to  read  the  word  of 
God  too?  Oh,  madam,  what  a  lucky  chance  brought  me 
o  your  door."  "Betty,"  said  the  lady,  "  what  you  have 
just  said  shows  the  need  you  have  of  being  better  taught ; 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  chance ;  and  we  offend  God  when 
we  call  that  luck  or  chance  which  is  brought  about  by  his 
will  or  pleasure.  None  of  the  events  of  your  life  have  hap- 
pened by  chance  ;  but  all  have  been  under  the  direction  of 
a  good  and  kiud  Providence.  He  has  permitted  you  to 
experience  want  and  distress,  that  you  might  acknowledge 
his  hand  in  your  present  comfort  and  prosperity.  Above 
all,  you  must  bless  his  goodness  in  sending  you  to  me,  not 
only  because  I  have  been  of  use  to  you  in  your  wrorldly  af- 
fairs, but  because  he  has  enabled  me  to  show  you  the  dan- 
ger of  your  state  from  sin  and  ignorance,  and  to  put  you  in 
a  way  to  know  his  will  and  to  keep  his  commandments, 
which  is  eternal  life." 

How  Betty,  by  industry  and  piety,  rose  in  the  world,  till 
at  length  she  came  to  keep  that  handsome  sausage  shop 
near  the  Seven  Dials,  and  was  married  to  that  very  hackney- 
coachman,  whose  history  and  honest  character  may  be 
learned  from  that  ballad  of  the  Cheap  Repository  which 
bears  his  name,  may  be  shown  hereafter. 


BLACK  GILES   THE    POACHER. 

CONTAINING  SOME  ACCOUNT  OP  A  FAMILY  WHO  HAD  RATHER  LIVE  BT 
THEIR  WITS  THAN  THEIR  WORK. 


-*•♦-*- 


PAET    I 


Poaching  Giles  lives  on  the  borders  of  those  great 
moors  in  Somersetshire.  Giles,  to  be  sure,  has  been  a  sad  fel- 
low in  his  time  ;  and  it  is  none  of  his  fault  if  his  whole  family 
do  not  e,nd  their  career,  either  at  the  gallows  or  Botany- 
Bay.  He  lives  at  that  mud  cottage  with  the  broken  win- 
dows, stuffed  with  dirty  rags,  just  beyond  the  gate  which 
divides  the  upper  from  the  lower  moor.  You  may  know 
the  house  at  a  good  distance  by  the  ragged  tiles  on  the 
roof,  and  the  loose  stones  which  are  ready  to  drop  out  from 
the  chimney ;  though  a  short  ladder,  a  hod  of  mortar,  and 
half  an  hour's  leisure  time,  would  have  prevented  all  this, 
and  made  the  little  dwelling:  tight  enough.  Bui  as  Giles 
had  never  learned  any  thing  that  was  good,  so  he  did  not 
know  the  value  of  such  useful  sayings,  as,  that  "  a  tile  in 
time  saves  nine." 

Besides  this,  Giles  fell  into  that  common  mistake,  that  a 
beggarly  looking  cottage,  and  filthy  ragged  children,  raise.  1 
most  compassion,  and  of  course  drew  most  charity.  But  as 
cunning  as  he  was  in  other  things,  be  was  out  in  his  reck- 
oning  here ;  for  it  is  neatness,  housewifery,  and  a  decent 
appearance,  which  draw  the  kindness  of  the  rich  and  chari- 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  205 

table,  while  theyturn  away  disgusted  from  filth  and  lazi- 
ness ;  not  out  of  pride,  but  because  they  see  that  it  is  next 
to  impossible  to  mend  the  condition  of  those  who  degrade 
themselves  by  dirt  and  sloth  ;  and  few  people  care  to  help 
t  In  >se  who  will  not  help  themselves. 

The  common  on  which  Giles's  hovel  stands,  is  quite  a 
deep  marsh  in  a  wet  winter :  but  in  summer  it  looks  green 
and  pretty  enough.  To  be  sure  it  would  be  rather  con- 
venient when  one  passes  that  way  in  a  carriage,  if  one  of 
the  children  would  run  out  and  open  the  gate  ;  but  instead 
of  any  one  of  them  running  out  as  soon  as  they  heard  the 
wheels,  which  would  be  quite  time  enough,  what  does  Giles 
do,  but  set  ail  his  ragged  brats,  with  dirty  faces,  matted 
locks,  and  naked  feet  and  legs,  to  lie  all  day  upon  a  sand 
bank  hard  by  the  gate,  waiting  for  the  slender  chance  of 
what  may  be  picked  up  from  travelers.  At  the  sound  of  a 
carriage,  a  whole  covey  of  these  little  scare-crows  start  up, 
rush  to  the  gate,  and  all  at  once  thrust  out  their  hats  and 
aprons;  and  for  fear  this,  together  with  the  noise  of  their 
clamorous  begging,  should  not  sufficiently  frighten  the 
horses,  they  are  very  apt  to  let  the  gate  slap  full  against 
you,  before  you  are  half  way  through,  in  their  eager  scuffle 
to  snatch  from  each  o  her  the  halfpence  which  you  have 
thrown  out  to  them.  I  know  two  ladies  who  were  one  day 
very  near  being  killed  by  thi  se  abominable  tricks. 

Thus  five  or  six  little  idle  creatines,  who  might  be  earn- 
ing a  trifle  by  knitting  at  home,  who  might  lie  useful  to  the 
public  by  working  in  the  field,  and  who  might  assist  their 
families  by  learning  to  gel  their  Bread  twenty  honest  way-, 
arc  suffered  to  lie  about  ail  day,  in  the  hope  of  a  lew  chau  • 
halfpence,  which,  after  all,  they  are  by  no  means  sure  of 
getting.  Indeed,  when  the  neighboring  gentlemen  found 
out  that  opening  the  gate  was  ;i  family  trade,  they  soon  let 
off  giving  any  thing.     And  I  myself,  though  I  used  to  take 


206  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER. 

out  a  peuny  ready  to  give,  had  there  been  only  one  to  re- 
ceive it,  when  I  see  a  whole  family  established  in  so  beg- 
garly a  trade,  quietly  put  it  back  again  in  my  pocket,  and 
give  nothing  at  all.  And  so  few  travelers  pass  that  way, 
that  sometimes  after  the  whole  family  have  lost  a  day,  their 
gains  do  not  amount  to  two-pence. 

As  Giles  had  a  far  greater  taste  for  living  by  his  wits  than 
his  work,  he  was  at  one  time  in  hopes  that  his  children 
might  have  got  a  pretty  penny  by  tumbling  for  the  diver- 
sion of  travelers,  and  he  set  about  training  them  in  that  in- 
decent practice  ;  but  unluckily  the  moors  being  level,  the 
carriage  traveled  faster  than  the  children  tumbled.  lie 
envied  those  parents  who  lived  on  the  London  road,  over 
the  Wiltshire  downs,  which  downs  being  very  hilly,  it  en- 
ables the  tumbler  to  keep  pace  with  the  traveler,  till  he 
sometimes  extorts  from  the  light  and  unthinking,  a  reward 
instead  of  a  reproof.  I  beg  leave,  however,  to  put  all  gentle- 
men and  ladies  in  mind,  that  such  tricks  are  a  kind  of  ap- 
prenticeship to  the  trades  of  begging  and  thieving ;  and 
that  nothing  is  more  injurious  to  good  morals  than  to  en- 
courage the  poor  in  any  habits  which  may  lead  them  to 
live  upon  chance. 

Giles,  to  be  sure,  as  his  children  grew  older,  began  to 
train  them  to  such  other  employments  as  the  idle  habits 
they  had  learned  at  the  gate  very  properly  qualified  them 
for.  The  right  of  common,  which  some  of  the  poor  cot- 
tagers have  in  that  part  of  the  countiy,  and  which  is  doubt- 
less a  considerable  advantage  to  many,  was  converted  by 
Giles  into  the  means  of  corrupting  his  whole  family ;  for 
his  children,  as  soon  as  they  grew  too  big  for  the  trade  of 
begging  at  the  gate,  were  promoted  to  the  dignity  of  thieves 
on  the  moor.  Here  he  kept  two  or  three  asses,  miserable 
beings,  which  if  they  had  the  good  fortune  to  escape  an 
untimelv  death  by  starving,  did  not  fail  to  meet  with  it  by 


BLACK     GILES    THE     POACHER.  207 

beating.  Some -of  the  biggest  boys  were  sent  out  with  these 
lean  and  galled  animals  to  carry  sand  or  coals  about  the 
neighboring  towns.  Both  sand  and  coals  were  often  stolen 
before  they  got  them  to  sell;  or  if  not,  they  always  took 
care  to  cheat  in  selling  them.  By  long  practice  in  this  art, 
they  grew  so  dexterous,  that  they  could  give  a  pretty  good 
guess  how  large  a  coal  they  could  crib  out  of  every  bag  be- 
fore the  buyer  would  be  likely  to  miss  it. 

All  their  odd  time  was  taken  up  under  the  pretense  of 
wratchin<>-  their  asses  on  the  moor,  or  running  after  five  or 
six  half-starved  geese  :  but  the  truth  is  these  boys  were  only 
watching  for  an  opportunity  to  steal  an  old  goose  of  their 
neighbor's,  while  they  pretended  to  look  after  their  own. 
They  used  also  to  pluck  the  quills  or  the  down  from  these 
live  creatures,  or  half  milk  a  cow  before  the  farmer's  maid 
came  with  her  pail.  They  all  knew  how  to  calculate  to  a 
minute  what  time  to  be  down  in  a  morning  to  let  out  their 
lank  hungry  beasts,  which  they  had  turned  over  night  into 
the  farmer's  field  to  steal  a  little  good  pasture.  They  con- 
tiived  to  get  there  just  time  enough  to  escape  being  caught 
replacing  the  stakes  they  had  pulled  out  for  the  cattle  to  get 
over.  For  Giles  was  a  prudent  long-headed  fellow  ;  and 
whenever  he  stole  food  for  his  colts,  took  care  never  to  steal 
stakes  from  the  hedges  at  the  same  place.  He  had  sense 
enough  to  know  that  the  gain  did  not  make  up  for  the 
danger;  he  knew  that  a  loose  fagot,  pulled  from  a  neigh- 
bor's pile  of  wood  after  the  family  were  gone  to  bed,  answered 
the  end  better,  and  was  not  half  the  trouble. 

Among  the  many  trades  which  Giles  professed,  he  some- 
times practiced  that  of  a  rat-catcher ;  but  he  was  addict  I 
to  so  many  tricks,  that  he  never  followed  the  same  trade 
long;  for  detection  will,  sooner  or  later,  follow  the  best  con- 
certed villany.  Whenever  he  was  sent  for  to  a  farm  house, 
his  custom  was  to  kill  a  few  of  the  old  rats,  always  taking 


208  BLACK     OH  28     T II  K     l'OACHEK. 

care  to  leave  a  little  stock  of  young  ones  alive,  sufficient  to 
keep  up  the  breed  ;  "  for,"  said  lie,  "  if  I  were  to  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  clear  a  house  or  a  barn  at  once,  how  would  my 
trade  be  carried  on  ?"  And  where  any  barn  was  over- 
stocked, he  used  to  borrow  a  few  rats  from  thence,  just  to 
people  a  neighboring  granary  which  had  none ;  and  he 
might  have  gone  on  till  now,  had  he  not  unluckily  been 
caught  one  evening  emptying  his  cage  of  rats  under  parson 
Wilson's  barn  door. 

This  worthy  minister,  Mr.  Wilson,  used  to  pity  the 
neglected  children  of  Giles,  as  much  as  he  blamed  the 
wicked  parents.  He  one  day  picked  up  Dick,  who  was  far 
the  best  of  Giles's  bad  boys.  Dick  was  loitering  about  in  a 
field  behind  the  parson's  garden  in  search  of  a  hen's  nest, 
his  mother  having  ordered  him  to  bring  home  a  few  eggs 
that  night,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  as  Giles  was  resolved  tc 
have  some  pan-cakes  for  supper,  though  he  knew  that  eggs 
were  a  penny  a-piece.  Mr.  Wilson  had  long  been  desirous 
of  snatching  some  of  this  vagrant  family  from  ruin  ;  and  his 
chief  hopes  were  bent  on  Dick,  as  the  least  hackneyed  in 
knavery.  He  had  once  given  him  a  new  pair  of  shoes,  on 
his  promising  to  go  to  school  next  Sunday;  but  no  sooner 
had  Rachel,  the  boy's  mother,  got  the  shoes  into  her 
clutches,  than  she  pawned  them  for  a  bottle  of  gin ;  and 
ordered  the  boy  to  keep  out  of  the  parson's  sight,  aud  to  be 
sure  to  play  his  marbles  on  Sunday  for  the  future,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  parish,  and  not  near  the  churchyard.  Mr. 
Wilson,  however,  picked  up  the  boy  once  more,  for  it  was 
not  his  way  to  despair  of  any  body.  Dick  was  just  going 
to  take  to  his  heels,  as  usual,  for  fear  the  old  story  of  the 
shoes  should  be  brought  forward  ;  but  finding  he  could  not 
get  off,  what  does  he  do  but  run  into  a  little  puddle  of 
muddy  water  which  lay  between  him  and  the  parson,  that 
the  sight  of  his  naked  feet  might  not  bring  on  the  dreaded 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  209 

subject.  Now  it  happened  that  Mr.  Wilson  was  planting 
a  little  field  of  beans,  so  he  thought  this  a  good  opportunity 
to  employ  Dick,  and  he  told  him  he  had  got  some  pretty 
easy  work  for  him.  Dick  did  as  he  was  bid  ;  he  willingly 
went  to  work,  and  readily  began  to  plant  his  beans  with 
dispatch  and  regularity  according  to  the  directions  given 
him. 

While  the  boy  was  busily  at  work  by  himself,  Giles  hap- 
pened to  come  by,  having  been  skulking  round  the  back 
way  to  look  over  the  parson's  garden  wall,  to  see  if  there 
was  any  thing  worth  climbing  over  for  on  the  ensuing  night. 
He  spied  Dick,  and  began  to  scold  him  for  working  for  the 
stingy  old  parson,  for  Giles  had  a  natural  antipathy  to  what- 
ever belonged  to  the  church.  "  What  lias  he  promised  thee 
a  day  ?"  said  he;  "little  enough,  I  dare  say."  "  He  is  not 
to  pay  me  by  the  day,"  said  Dick,  "  but  says  he  will  give 
me  so  much  when  I  have  planted  this  peck,  and  so  much 
for  the  next."  "  Oh,  oh  !  that  alters  the  case,"  said  Giles. 
"  One  may,  indeed,  get  a  trifle  by  this  sort  of  work.  I  hate 
your  regular  day-jobs,  where  one  can't  well  avoid  doing 
one's  work  for  one's  money.  Come,  give  me  a  handful  of 
beans,  I  will  teach  thee  how  to  plant  when  thou  art  paid 
for  planting  by  the  peck.  Ail  we  have  to  do  in  that  case 
is  to  dispatch  the  work  as  fast  as  we  can,  and  get  rid  of  the 
beans  with  all  speed  ;  and  as  to  the  seed  coming  up  or  not, 
that  is  no  business  of  ours;  we  are  paid  for  planting,  not 
for  growing.  At  the  rate  thou  goest  on  thou  wouldst  not 
get  six-pence  to  night.  Come  along,  bury  away."  So  say- 
insr  he  took  his  hatful  of  the  seed, and  where  Dick  had  been 
oidered  to  sot  one  bean,  Giles  buried  a  dozen;  of  course 
the  beans  were  soon  out.  But  though  the  peek  was  emptied, 
the  ground  was  implanted.  But  cunning  Giles  knew  this 
could  not  be  found  out  till  the  time  when  the  beans  might 
be  expected  to  come  up,  "  and  then,  Dick,"  says  he,  "the 


210  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER. 

snails  and  the  mice  may  go  shares  in  the  blame,  or  we  car. 
lay  the  fault  on  the  rooks  or  the  black-birds."  So  saying, 
he  sent  the  boy  into  the  parsonage  to  receive  his  pay,  taking 
care  to  secure  about  a  quarter  of  the  peck  of  beans  for  his 
own  colt.  He  put  both  bag  and  beans  into  his  own  pocket 
to  carry  home,  bidding  Dick  tell  Mr.  Wilson  that  he  had 
planted  the  beans  and  lost  the  bag. 

In  the  meantime  Giles's  other  boys  were  busy  in  empty- 
ing the  ponds  and  trout-streams  in  the  neighboring  manor. 
They  would  steal  away  the  carp  and  tench  when  they  were 
no  bigger  than  gudgeons.  By  this  untimely  depredation 
they  plundered  the  owner  of  his  property,  without  enrich- 
ing themselves.  But  the  pleasure  of  mischief  was  reward 
enough.  These,  and  a  hundred  other  little  thieveries,  they 
committed  with  such  dexterity,  that  old  Tim  Crib,  whose 
son  was  transported  last  assizes  for  sheep  stealing,  used  to 
be  often  reproaching  his  boys  that  Giles's  sons  were  worth 
a  hundred  of  such  blockheads  as  he  had  ;  for  scarce  a 
night  passed  but  Giles  had  some  little  comfortable  thing  for 
supper  which  his  boys  had  pilfered  in  the  day,  while  his 
undutiful  dogs  never  stole  any  thing  worth  having.  Giles, 
in  the  meantime,  was  busy  in  his  way,  but  as  busy  as  he 
was  in  laying  his  nets,  starting  coveys,  and  training  dogs, 
he  always  took  care  that  his  depredations  should  not  be 
confined  merely  to  game. 

Giles's  boys  had  never  seen  the  inside  of  a  church  since 
they  were  christened,  and  the  father  thought  he  knew  his 
own  interest  better  than  to  force  them  to  it ;  for  church- 
time  was  the  season  of  their  harvest.  Then  the  hen's  nests 
were  searched,  a  stray  duck  was  clapped  under  the  smock- 
frock,  the  tools  which  might  have  been  left  by  chance  in»a 
farm-yard  were  picked  up,  and  all  the  neighboring  pigeon- 
houses  were  thinned,  so  that  Giles  used  to  boast  to  tawny 
Rachel,  his  wife,  that  Sunday  was  to  them  the  most  profit- 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  211 

able  day  in  tlie  week.  With  her  it  was  certainly  the  most 
laborious  day,  as  she  always  did  her  washing  and  ironing 
ou  the  Sunday  morning,  it  being-,  as  she  said,  the  only  leisure 
day  she  had,  for  on  the  other  days  she  went  about  the 
country  telling  fortunes,  and  selling  dream-books  and 
wicked  songs.  Neither  her  husband's  nor  her  children's 
clothes  were  ever  mended,  and  if  Sunday,  her  idle  day,  had 
not  come  about  once  in  every  week,  it  is  likely  they  would 
never  have  been  washed  neither.  You  might  however  see 
her  as  you  were  going  to  church  smoothing  her  own  rags 
on  her  best  red  cloak,  which  she  always  used  for  her  iron- 
ing-cloth on  Sundays,  for  her  cloak  when  she  traveled,  and 
for  her  blankel  at  night;  such  a  wretched  manager  was 
Rachel]  Among  her  other  articles  of  trade,  one  was  to 
make  and  sell  peppermint,  and  other  distilled  waters. 
These  she  had  the  cheap  art  of  making  without  trouble 
and  without  expense,  for  she  made  them  without  herbs  and 
without  a  still.  Her  way  was,  to  fill  so  many  quart  bottles 
with  plain  water,  putting  a  spoonful  of  mint  water  in  the 
mouth  of  each  ;  ihese  she  corked  down  with  rosin,  carrying 
to  each  customer  a  phial  of  real  distilled  water  to  taste  by 
way  of  sample.  This  was  so  good  that  her  bottles  were 
commonly  bought  up  without  being  opened  ;  but  if  any 
suspicion  arose,  and  she  was  forced  to  uncork  a  bottle,  by 
the  few  drops  of  distilled  water  lying  at  top  she  even  then 
escaped  detection,  and  took  care  to  get  out  of  reach  before 
the  bottle  was  opened  a  second  time.  She  was  too  prudent 
ever  to  go  twice  to  the  same  house. 

THE    UPRIGHT    MAGISTRATE. 

There  is  hardly  any  petty  mischief  that  is  not  connected 
with  the  life  of  a  poacher.  Mr.  Wilson  was  aware  of  this; 
he  was  not  only  a  pious  clergymau,  but  an  upright  justice. 
He  used  to  say,  that  people  who  were  really  conscientious, 


212  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER. 

must  be  so  in  small  things  as  well  as  in  great  ones,  or  they 
would  destroy  the  effect  of  their  own  precept,  and  their  ex- 
ample would  not  be  of  general  use.  For  this  reason  he 
never  would  accept  of  a  hare  or  a  partridge  from  any  un- 
qualified  person  in  the  parish :  he  did  not  content  himself 
with  shuffling  the  thing  off  by  asking  questions,  and  pre- 
tending to  take  it  for  granted  in  a  general  way  that  the 
game  was  fairly  come  at ;  but  he  used  to  say,  that  by  re- 
ceiving the  booty  he  connived  at  a  crime,  made  himself  a 
sharer  in  it ;  and  if  he  gave  a  present  to  the  man  who 
brought  it,  he  even  tempted  him  to  repeat  the  fault. 

One  day  poor  Jack  Weston,  an  honest  fellow  in  the 
neighborhood,  whom  Mr.  Wilson  had  kindly  visited  and  re- 
lieved in  a  long  sickness,  from  which  he  was  but  just  re- 
covered, was  brought  before  him  as  he  was  sitting  on  the 
justice's  bench  ;  Jack  was  accused  of  having  knocked  down 
a  hare ;  and  of  all  the  birds  in  the  air,  who  should  the  in- 
former be  but  black  Giles  the  poacher  ?  Mr.  Wilson  was 
grieved  at  the  charge ;  he  had  a  great  regard  for  Jack,  but 
he  had  still  a  greater  regard  for  the  law.  The  poor  fellow 
pleaded  guilty.  He  did  not  deny  the  fact,  but  said  he  did 
not  consider  it  as  a  crime,  for  he  did  not  think  game  was 
private  property,  and  he  owned  he  had  a  strong  temptation 
for  doing  what  he  had  done,  which  he  hoped  would  plead 
his  excuse.  The  justice  desired  to  know  what  this  tempta- 
tion was.  "Sir,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  "you  know  I  was 
given  over  this  spring  in  a  bad  fever.  I  had  no  friend  in 
the  world  but  you,  sir.  Under  God  you  saved  my  life  by 
your  charitable  relief;  and  I  trust  also  you  may  have  helped 
to  save  my  soul  by  your  prayers  and  your  good  advice ; 
for,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  have  turned  over  a  new  leaf 
since  that  sickness. 

"  I  know  I  can  never  make  you  amends  for  all  your  good- 
ness, but  I  thought  it  would  be  some  comfort  to  my  full 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  213 

heart  if  I  could  but  once  give  you  some  little  token  of  my 
gratitude.  So  I  had  trained  a  pair  of  nice  turtle  doves  for 
Madam  Wilson,  but  they  were  stolen  from  me,  sir,  and  I  do 
suspect  black  Giles  stole  them.  Yesterday  morning,  sir,  as 
I  was  crawling  out  to  my  work,  for  I  am  still  but  very  weak, 
a  fine  hare  ran  across  my  path.  I  did  not  stay  to  consider 
whether  it  was  wrong  to  kill  a  hare,  but  I  felt  it  was  right 
to  show  my  gratitude  ;  so,  sir,  without  a  moment's  thought 
I  did  knock  down  the  hare,  which  I  was  going  to  carry  to 
your  worship,  because  I  knew  madam  was  fond  of  hare.  I 
am  truly  sorry  for  my  fault,  and  will  submit  to  whatever 
punishment  your  worship  may  please  to  inflict." 

Mr.  Wilson  was  much  moved  with  this  honest  confession, 
and  touched  with  the  poor  fellow's  gratitude.  What  added 
to  the  effect  of  the  story,  was  the  weak  condition,  and  pale 
sickly  looks  of  the  offender.  But  this  worthy  magistrate 
never  suffered  his  feelings  to  bias  his  integrity ;  he  knew 
that  he  did  not  sit  on  that  bench  to  indulge  pity,  but  to  ad- 
minister justice ;  and  while  he  was  sorry  for  the  offender, 
he  would  never  justify  the  offense.  "John,"  said  he,  "I 
am  surprised  that  you  could  for  a  moment  forget  that  I 
never  accept  any  gift  which  causes  the  giver  to  break  a  law. 
On  Sunday  I  teach  you  from  the  pulpit  the  laws  of  God, 
whose  minister  I  am.  At  present  I  till  the  chair  of  a  magis- 
trate, to  enforce  and  execute  the  laws  of  the  laud.  Between 
those  and  the  other  there  is  more  connection  than  you  are 
aware.  I  thank  you,  John,  for  your  affection  to  me,  and  I 
admire  your  gratitude  ;  but  I  must  not  allow  either  affec- 
tion or  gratitude  to  be  brought  as  a  plea  for  a  wrong  ac- 
tion. It  is  not  your  business  nor  mine,  John,  to  settle 
whether  the  game  laws  are  good  or  bad.  Till  they  are  re- 
pealed we  must  obey  them.  Many,  I  doubt  not,  break 
these  laws  through  ignorance,  and  many,  I  am  certain,  who 
would  not  dare   to  steal  a  goose   or  a  turkey,  make  no 


214  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER. 

scruple  of  knocking  down  a  hare  or  a  partridge.  You  will 
hereafter  think  yourself  happy  that  this  your  fir.st  attempt 
has  proved  unsuccessful,  as  I  trust  you  are  too  lionest  a  fel- 
low ever  to  intend  to  turn  poacher.  With  poaching  much 
moral  evil  is  connected ;  a  hahit  of  nightly  depredation  ;  a 
custom  of  prowling  in  the  dark  for  prey  produces  in  time 
a  disrelish  for  honest  labor.  He  whose  first  offense  was 
committed  without  much  thought  or  evil  intention,  if  he 
happens  to  succeed  a  few  times  in  carrying  off  his  booty 
undiscovered,  grows  bolder  and  bolder:  and  when  he  fancies 
there  is  no  shame  attending  it,  he  very  soon  gets  to  persuade 
himself  that  there  is  also  no  sin.  While  some  people  pre- 
tend a  scruple  about  stealing  a  sheep,  they  partly  live  bv 
plundering  of  warrens.  But  remember  that  the  warrener 
pays  a  high  rent,  and  that  therefore  his  rabbits  are  as  much 
his  property  as  his  sheep.  Do  not  then  deceive  yourselves 
with  these  false  distinctions.  All  property  is  sacred,  and  as 
the  laws  of  the  land  are  intended  to  fence  in  that  property, 
lie  who  brings  up  his  children  to  break  down  any  of  these 
fences,  brings  them  up  to  certain  sin  and  ruin.  He  who  be- 
gins with  robbing  orchards,  rabbit-warrens,  and  fish-ponds, 
will  probably  end  with  horse-stealing  or  highway  robbery. 
Poaching  is  a  regular  apprenticeship  to  bolder  crimes.  He 
whom  I  may  commit  as  a  boy  to  sit  in  the  stocks  for  kill- 
ing a  partridge,  may  be  likely  to  end  at  the  galleys  for  kill- 
ing a  man. 

"  Observe,  you  who  now  hear  me,  the  strictness  and  im- 
partiality of  justice.  I  know  Giles  to  be  a  worthless  fellow, 
yet  it  is  my  duty  to  take  his  information ;  I  know  Jack 
Weston  to  be  an  honest  youth,  yet  I  must  be  obliged  to 
make  him  pay  the  penalty.  Giles  is  a  bad  man,  but  he  can 
prove  this  fact ;  Jack  is  a  worthy  lad,  but  he  has  committed 
this  fault.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Jack ;  but  do  not  let  it 
grieve  you  that  Giles  has  played  worse  tricks  a   hundred 


BLACK     GILES    THE     POACHER.  215 

times,  and  yet  got  off,  while  you  were  detected  in  the  very 
first  offense,  for  that  would  be  grieving  because  you  are  not 
as  great  a  rogue  as  Giles.  At  this  moment  you  think  your 
good  luck  is  very  unequal ;  but  all  this  will  one  day  turn 
out  in  your  favor.  Giles  it  not  the  more  a  favorite  of 
heaven  because  he  has  hitherto  escaped  Botany  Bay,  or 
the  hulks  ;  nor  is  it  any  mark  of  God's  displeasure  against 
you,  John,  that  you  were  found  out  in  your  very  first  at- 
tempt." 

Here  the  good  justice  left  off  speaking,  and  no  one  could 
contradict  the  truth  of  what  he  had  said.  Weston  humbly 
submitted  to  his  sentence,  but  he  was  very  poor,  and  knew 
not  where  to  raise  the  money  to  pay  his  fine.  His  charac- 
ter had  always  been  so  fair,  that  several  farmers  present 
kindly  agreed  to  advance  a  trifle  each  to  prevent  his  being 
sent  to  prison,  and  he  thankfully  promised  to  work  out  the 
debt.  The  justice  himself,  though  he  could  not  soften  the 
law,  yet  showed  Weston  so  much  kindness  that  he  was  en- 
abled before  the  year  was  out,  to  get  out  of  this  difficulty. 
He  began  to  think  more  seriously  than  ho  had  ever  yet 
done,  and  grew  to  abhor  poaching,  not  merely  from  fear, 
but  from  principle. 

We  shall  soon  see  whether  poaching  Giles  always  got  off 
so  successfully.  Here  we  have  seen  that  worldly  prosperity 
is  no  sure  sign  of  goodness.  Next  month  we  may,  perhaps, 
see  that  the  "triumph  of  the  wicked  is  short;''  fur  I  then 
promise  to  give  the  second  part  of  the  Poacher,  together 
with  the  entertaining  story  of  the  Widow  Brown's  Apple- 
tree. 


216  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER. 

PART     II. 

HISTORY    OF    WIDOW    BROWN'S    APPLE-TREE. 

I  think  my  readers  got  so  well  acquainted  last  month 
with  black  Giles  the  poacher,  that  they  will  not  expect  this 
month  to  hear  any  great  good,  either  of  Giles  himself,  his 
wife  Rachel,  or  any  of  their  family.  I  am  sorry  to  expose 
their  tricks,  but  it  is  their  fault,  not  mine.  If  I  pretend  to 
speak  about  people  at  all,  I  must  tell  the  truth.  I  am  sure, 
if  folks  would  but  turn  about  and  mend,  it  would  be  a 
thousand  times  pleasanter  to  me  to  write  their  histories ; 
for  it  is  no  comfort  to  tell  of  any  body's  faults.  If  the 
world  would  but  grow  good,  I  skoidd  be  glad  enough  to 
publish  it :  but  till  it  really  becomes  so,  I  must  go  on  de- 
scribing it  as  it  is ;  otherwise,  I  should  only  mislead  my 
readers,  instead  of  instructing  them.  It  is  the  duty  of  a 
faithful  historian  to  relate  the  evil  with  the  good. 

As  to  Giles  and  his  boys,  I  am  sure  old  Widow  Brown 
has  good  reason  to  remember  their  dexterity.  Poor 
woman  !  she  had  a  fine  little  bed  of  onions  in  her  neat: 
and  well-kept  garden  ;  she  was  very  fond  of  her  onions, 
and  many  a  rheumatism  has  she  caught  by  kneeling  down 
to  weed  them  in  a  damp  day,  notwithstanding  the  little  flan- 
nel cloak  and  the  bit  of  an  old  mat  which  Madam  Wilson 
gave  her,  because  the  old  woman  would  needs  weed  in  wet 
weather.  Her  onions  she  always  carefully  treasured  up  for 
her  winter's  store ;  for  an  onion  makes  a  little  broth  very 
relishing,  and  is  indeed  the  only  savory  thing  poor  people 
are  used  to  get.  She  had  also  a  small  orchard,  containing 
about  a  dozen  apple-trees,  with  which  in  a  good  year  sho 
had  been  known  to  make   a  couple   of  barrels  of  cider, 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  217 

which  she  sold  to  her  landlord  toward  paying  her  rent,  be- 
sides having  a  little  keg  which  she  was  able  to  keep  back 
for  her  own  drinking.  Well !  would  you  believe  it,  Giles 
and  his  boys  marked  both  onions  and  apples  for  their  own  ; 
indeed,  a  man  who  stole  so  many  rabbits  from  the  warrener, 
was  likely  enough  to  steal  onions  for  sauce.  One  day, 
when  the  widow  was  abroad  on  a  little  business,  Giles  and 
his  boys  made  a  clear  riddance  of  the  onion  bed;  and 
when  they  had  pulled  up  every  single  onion,  they  then 
turned  a  couple  of  pigs  into  the  garden,  who,  allured  by 
the  smell,  tore  tip  the  bed  in  such  a  manner,  that  the 
wi  low,  when  she  came  home,  had  not  the  least  doubt  but 
the  pigs  had  been  the  thieves.  To  confirm  this  opinion, 
they  took  care  to  leave  the  latch  half  open  at  one  end 
of  the  garden,  and  to  break  down  a  slight  fence  at  the  other 
end. 

I  wonder  how  any  body  can  find  in  his  heart  not  to  pity 
and  respect  poor  old  widows.  There  is  something  so  for- 
lorn and  helpless  in  their  condition,  that  methinks  it  is  a 
mil  on  every  body,  men,  women,  and  children,  to  do-  them 
all  the  kind  services  that  fall  in  their  way.  Surely  their 
having  no  one  to  take  their  part,  is  an  additional  reason  for 
kind-hearted  people  not  to  hurt  and  oppress  them.  But  it 
was  this  v.ry  reason  which  led  Giles  to  do  this  woman  an 
injury.  With  what  a  touching  simplicity  is  it  recorded  in 
Scripture,  of  the  youth  whom  our  blessed  Saviour  raised 
from  the  dead,  that  he  was  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and 
she  was  a  widow  ! 

It  happened  unluckily  for  poor  Widow  Brown  that  her 
cottage  stood  quite  alone.  On  several  mornings  together 
(for  roguery  gels  up  much  earlier  than  industry)  Giles  an  1 
his  boys  stole  regularly  into  her  orchard,  followed  by  their 
jack-asses.  She  was  so  deaf  that  she  could  not  hear  the 
asses  if  they  had  brayed  ever  so  loud,  and  to  this  Giles 

10 


218  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER, 

trusted  ;  for  be  was  very  cautious  in  his  rogueries,  since  he 
could  not  otherwise  have  contrived  so  long  to  keep  out  of 
prison;  for,  though  he  was  abnosi  always  suspected,  he  had 

seldom  been  taken  up,  and  never  convicted.  The  boys 
used  to  fill  their  bags,  load  their  asses,  and  then  march  off; 
and  if,  in  their  way  to  the  town  where  the  apples  were  to 
be  sold,  they  chanced  to  pass  by  one  of  their  neighbors  who 
might  be  likely  to  suspect  them,  they  then  all  at  once  be- 
gan to  scream  out,  "  Buy  my  coal  !     Buy  my  sand  !" 

Besides  the  trees  in  her  orchard,  poor  Widow  Brown  had 
in  her  small  garden  one  apple-tree  particularly  fine  ;  it  was 
a  red  streak,  so  tempting  and  so  lovely,  that  Giles's  family 
had  watched  it  with  longing  eyes,  till  at  last  they  resolved 
on  a  plan  for  carrying  off  all  this  fine  fruit  in  their  bags. 
But  it  was  a  nice  point  to  manage.  The  tree  stood  directly 
under  her  chamber  window,  so  that  there  was  some  danger 
thai  she  might  spy  them  at  the  work.  They,  therefore,  de- 
termined to  wait  till  the  next  Sunday  morning  when  they 
knew  she  would  not  fail  to  be  at  church.  Sunday  came, 
and  during  service  Giles  attended.  It  was  a  lone  house,  as 
1  said  before,  and  the  rest  of  the  parish  were  safe  at  church. 
In  a  trice  the  tree  was  cleared,  the  bags  were  filled,  the 
asses  were  whipped,  the  thieves  were  off,  the  coast  was 
clear,  and  all  was  safe  and  quiet  by  the  time  the  sermon 
was  over. 

Unluckily,  however,  it  happened  that  this  tree  was  so 
beautiful,  and  the  fruit  so  fine,  that  the  people,  as  they  used 
to  pass  to  and  from  the  church,  were  very  apt  to  stop  and 
admire  Widow  Brown's  red-streaks;  and  some  of  the 
farmers  rather  envied  her  that  in  that  scarce  season,  when 
they  hardly  expected  to  make  a  pie  out  of  a  large  orchard, 
she  was  likely  to  make  a  cask  of  cider  from  a  single  tree. 
1  am  afraid,  indeed,  if  I  must  speak  out,  she  herself  rather 
set  her  heart  too  much  upon  this  fruit,  and  had  felt  as  much 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  219 

pride  in  her  tree  as  gratitude  to  a  good  Providence  for  it ; 
but  this  failing  of  heis  was  no  excuse  for  Giles.  The  cov- 
etousness  of  this  thief  had  for  once  got  the  better  of  his 
caution  ;  the  tree  was  too  completely  stripped,  though  the 
youngest  boy,  Dick,  did  beg  hard  that  his  father  would 
leave  the  poor  old  woman  enough  for  a  few  dumplings  ;  and 
when  Giles  ordered  Dick,  in  his  turn,  to  shake  the  tree,  the 
boy  did  it  so  gently  that  hardly  any  apples  fell,  for  which 
he  got  a  good  stroke  of  the  stick  with  which  the  old  man 
was  beating  down  the  apples. 

The  neighbors,  on  their  return  from  church,  stopped  as 
usual,  but  it  was  not,  alas  !  to  admire  the  apples,  for  apples 
there  were  none  left,  but  to  lament  the  robbery,  and  console 
the  widow.  Mean  time  the  red-streaks  were  safely  lodged 
in  Giles's  hovel  under  a  few  bundles  of  new  hay  which  he 
had  contrived  to  pull  from  a  farmer's  mow  the  night  be- 
fore for  the  use  of  his  jack-asses.  Such  a  stir,  however, 
began  to  be  made  about  the  widow's  apple-tree,  that  Giles, 
who  knew  how  much  his  character  had  laid  him  open  to 
suspicion,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  people  safe  in  church  again 
in  the  afternoon,  ordered  his  boys  to  carry  each  a  hatful  of 
the  apples  and  thrust  them  in  a  little  casement  window 
which  happened  to  be  open  in  the  house  of  Samuel  Price, 
a  very  honest  carpenter  in  that  parish,  who  was  at  church 
with  his  whole  family.  Giles's  plan,  by  this  contrivance, 
was  to  lay  the  theft  on  Price's  sons  in  case  the  thing  should 
come  to  be  further  inquired  into.  Here  Dick  put  in  a  word, 
and  begged  and  prayed  his  father  not  to  force  them  to 
carry  the  apples  to  Price's.  Put  all  he  got  by  his  begging 
was  such  a  knock  as  had  nearly  laid  him  on  the  earth. 
"What,  you  cowardly  rascal,"  said  Giles,  "you  will  go  and 
'jpeach,  I  suppose,  and  get  your  father  sent  to  jail/' 

Poor  Widow  Brown,  though  her  trouble  had  made  her 
ptill  weaker  than  she  was,  went  to  church  again  in  the  af 


220  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER, . 

ternoon  ;  indeed  she  rightly  thought  that  her  being  in 
trouble  was  a  new  reason  why  she  ought  to  go.  Duricg 
the  service  she  tried  with  all  her  might  not  to  think  of  her 
red-streaks,  and  whenever  they  would  come  into  her  head, 
she  took  up  her  prayer-book  directly,  and  so  she  forgot 
them  a  little  ;  and,  indeed,  she  found  herself  much  easier 
when  she  came  out  of  the  church  than  when  she  went  in ; 
an  effect  so  commonly  produced  by  prayer,  that  methiuks 
it  is  a  pity  people  do  not  try  it  oftener.  Now  it  happened, 
oddly  enough,  that  on  that  Sunday,  of  all  the  Sundays  in  the 
year,  the  widow  should  call  in  to  rest  a  little  at  Samuel 
Price's,  to  tell  over  again  the  lamentable  story  of  the  apples, 
and  to  consult  with  him  how  the  thief  might  be  brought  to 
justice.  But  oh,  reader  !  guess,  if  you  can,  for  I  am  sure 
I  can  not  tell  you,  what  was  her  surprise,  when,  on  going 
into  Samuel  Price's  kitchen,  she  saw  her  own  red-streaks 
lying  on  the  window  !  The  apples  were  of  a  sort  too  re- 
markable, for  color,  shape,  and  size,  to  be  mistaken.  There 
was  not  such  another  tree  in  the  parish.  Widow  Brown 
immediately  screamed  out,  "  Alas-a-day  !  as  sure  as  can  be, 
here  are  my  red-streaks ;  I  could  swear  to  thorn  in  any 
court."  Samuel  Price,  who  believed  his  sons  to  be  as  hon- 
est as  himself,  was  shocked  and  troubled  at  the  sight.  He 
knew  he  had  no  red-streaks  of  his  own,  he  knew  there  weie 
no  apples  in  the  window  when  he  went  to  church  ;  he  did 
verily  believe  these  apples  to  be  the  widow's.  But  how 
came  they  there  he  could  not  possibly  guess.  He  called  for 
Tom,  the  only  one  of  his  sons  who  now  lived  at  home.  Tom 
was  at  the  Sunday  School,  which  he  had  never  once  missed 
since  Mr.  Wilson,  the  minister,  had  set  up  one  in  the  parish. 
Was  such  a  boy  likely  to  do  such  a  deed ! 

A  crowd  was  by  this  time  got  about  Price's  door,  among 
which  were  Giles  and  his  boys,  who  had  already  taken  care 
to  spread  the  news  that  Tom  Price  was  the  thief.     Most 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  221 

people  were  unwilling  to  believe  it.  His  character  was 
very  good,  but  appearances  were  strongly  against  him. 
Mr.  Wilson,  who  had  staid  to  christen  a  child,  now  came 
in.  He  was  much  concerned  that  Tom  Price,  the  best  boy 
in  his  school,  should  stand  accused  of  such  a  crime.  He 
sent  for  the  boy,  examined,  and  cross-examined  him.  No 
marks  of  guilt  appeared.  But  still,  though  he  pleaded  not 
guilty,  there  lay  the  red-streaks  in  his  father's  window.  All 
the  idle  fellows  in  the  place,  who  were  most  likely  to  have 
committed  such  a  theft  themselves,  were  the  very  people 
who  fell  with  vengeance  on  poor  Tom.  The  wicked  seldom 
give  any  quarter.  "  This  is  one  of  your  sanctified  ones  !" 
cried  they.  "  This  was  all  the  good  that  Sunday  School 
did  !"  For  their  parts  they  never  saw  any  good  come  by 
religion.  Sunday  wras  the  only  day  for  a  little  pastime,  and 
if  poor  boys  must  be  shut  up  with  their  godly  books,  when 
they  ought  to  be  out  taking  a  little  pleasure,  it  was  no  won- 
der they  made  themselves  amends  by  such  tricks.  Another 
said  he  would  like  to  see  Parson  Wilson's  righteous  one 
well  whipped.  A  third  hoped  he  would  be  clapped  in  the 
stocks  for  a  young  hypocrite  as  he  was;  while  old  (Jilts, 
who  thought,  the  only  way  to  avoid  suspicion  was  by  being 
more  violent  than  the  rest,  declared,  "  that  he  hoped  the 
young  dog  wrould  be  transported  for  life." 

Mr.  Wilson  was  too  wise  and  too  just  to  proceed  against 
Tom  without  full  proof.  He  declared  the  crime  was  a  very 
heavy  one,  and  In-  feared  that  heavy  must  be  the  punish- 
ment. Tom,  who  knew  his  own  innocence,  earnestly 
prayed  to  God  that  it  might  be  made  to  appear  as  clear  as 
the  noon-day;  and  very  fervent  were  his  secret  devotions 
on  thai  night. 

Black  <iilcs  passed  his  night  in  a  very  different  manner. 
He  set  off,  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  with  his  sons  and  their 
jack-asses,  laden  with  their  stolen  goods.     As  such  a  cry 


222  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER. 

was  raised  about  the  apples,  he  did  not  think  it  safe  to  keep 
them  longer  at  home,  but  resolved  to  go  and  sell  them  at 
the  next  town,  borrowing,  without  leave,  a  lame  colt  out  of 
the  moor  to  assist  in  carrying  off  his  booty. 

Giles  and  his  eldest  sons  had  rare  sport  all  the  way  in, 
thinking  that,  while  they  were  enjoying  the  profit  of  their 
plunder,  Tom  Price  would  be  whipped  round  the  market- 
place at  least,  if  not  sent  beyond  sea.  But  the  younger 
boy,  Dick,  who  had  naturally  a  tender  heart,  though  hard- 
ened by  his  long  familiarity  with  sin,  could  not  help  crying 
when  he  thought  that  Tom  Price  might,  perhaps,  be  trans- 
ported for  a  crime  which  he  himself  had  helped  to  com- 
mit. He  had  had  no  compunction  about  the  robbery,  for 
he  had  not  been  instructed  in  the  great  principles  of  truth 
and  justice  ;  nor  would  he  therefore,  perhaps,  have  had 
much  remorse  about  accusing  an  innocent  boy.  But 
though  utterly  devoid  of  principle,  he  had  some  remains  of 
natural  feeling  and  of  gratitude.  Tom  Price  had  often 
given  him  a  bit  of  his  own  bread  and  cheese  ;  and  once, 
when  Dick  was  like  to  be  drowned,  Tom  had  jumped  into 
the  pond  wit':  his  clothes  on,  and  saved  his  life  when  he 
was  just  sinl  ing ;  the  remembrance  of  all  this  made  his 
heart  heavy.  I  le  said  nothing  ;  but  as  he  trotted  barefoot 
after  the  asses,  he  heard  his  father  and  brothers  laugh  at 
having  outwitted  the  godly  ones;  and  he  grieved  to  think 
how  poor  Tom  would  suffer  for  his  wickedness,  yet  fear  kept 
him  silent ;  they  called  him  a  sulky  dog,  and  lashed  the 
asses  till  they  ble  !. 

In  the  in  an  time  Tom  Price  kept  up  his  spirits  as  well 
as  he  could,  lie  worked  hard  all  day,  and  prayed  heartily 
night  and  morning.  "  It  is  true,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I  am 
not  guilty  of  this  sin  ;  but  let  this  accusation  set  me  on  ex- 
amining myself,  and  truly  repenting  of  all  my  other  sins' 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  223 

for  I  find  enough  to  repent  of,  though,  I  thank  God,  I  did 
not  steal  the  Widow's  apples. 

At  length  Sunday  came,  and  Tom  went  to  school  as 
usual.  As  soon  as  he  walked  in  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
whispering  and  laughing  among  the  worst  of  the  boys  ;  and 
he  overheard  them  say,  "  Who  would  have  thought  it ! 
This  is  master's  favorite  !  This  is  Parson  Wilson's  sober 
Tommy  !  We  sha'n't  have  Tommy  thrown  in  our  teeth 
again  if  we  go  to  get  a  bird's  nest,  or  gather  a  few  nuts  on 
a  Sunday."  "  Your  demure  ones  are  always  hypocrites," 
says  another.  "  The  still  sow  sucks  all  the  milk,"  says  a 
third. 

Giles's  family  had  always  kept  clear  of  the  school.  Dick, 
indeed,  had  sometimes  wished  to  go  ;  not  that  he  had  much 
sense  of  sin,  or  desire  after  goodness,  but  he  thought  if  he 
could  once  read,  he  might  rise  in  the  world,  and  not  be 
forced  to  drive  asses  all  his  life.  Through  this  whole  Sat- 
urday  night  he  could  not  sleep.  He  longed  to  know  what 
would  be  done  to  Tom.  He  begin  to  wish  to  go  to  school, 
but  he  had  not  courage — sin  is  very  cowardly.  So  on  the 
Sunday  morning  lie  went  and  sat  himself  down  under  the 
church  wall.  Mr.  Wilson  passed  by.  It  was  not  his  way 
to  reject  the  most  wicked,  till  he  had  tried  every  means  to 
bring  them  over,  and  even  then  he  pitied  and  prayed  for 
them.  lie  had,  indeed,  long  left  off  talking  to  (Giles's  sons; 
but  seeing  Dick  sitting  by  himself,  he  once  more  spoke  to 
him,  desired  him  to  leave  off  his  vagabond  life,  and  go  with 
him  into  the  school.  The  boy  hung  down  his  head,  but 
m  ide  no  answer.  Hedi  i  not,  however,  ■  i  her  rise  upandiuu 
away,  or  1  ok  sulky,  as  be  used  to  do.  The  minister  de- 
Bired  him  once  more  to  go.  "  Sir,"  sai  1  the  boy,  "  I  can't, 
go;  I  am  so  big  I  am  ashamed."     '•  T!i  r  you  are 

the  less  time  you  have  to  lose."     "  But,  sir,  I  can't  read." 
"  Then  it  is  high  time  you  should  learn."     "  I  should  be 


224  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER. 

ashamed  to  begin  to  learn  my  letters."  "  The  shame  is  not 
in  beginning  to  learn  them,  but  in  being  content  never  to 
know  them."  "  But,  sir,  I  am  so  ragged  !"  "  God  looks  at 
the  heart,  and  not  at  the  coat."  "  But,  sir,  I  have  no  shoes 
and  stockings."  "  So  much  the  worse.  I  remember  who 
gave  you  both.  (Here  Dick  colore!.)  It  is  bad  to  want 
shoes  and  stockings,  but  still  if  you  can  drive  your  asses  a 
dozen  miles  without  them,  you  may  certainly  walk  a  hun- 
dred yards  to  school  without  them."  "  But,  sir,  the  good 
boys  will  hate  me,  and  won't  speak  to  me."  "  Good  boys 
hate  nobody,  and  as  to  not  speaking  to  you,  to  be  sure  they 
will  not  keep  your  company  while  you  go  on  in  your  pres- 
ent evil  courses  ;  but  as  soon  as  they  see  you  wish  to  reform, 
they  will  help  you,  and  pity  you,  and  teach  you ;  and  so 
come  along."  Here  Mr.  Wilson  took  this  dirty  boy  by  the 
hand,  and  gently  pulled  him  forward,  kindly  talking  to  him 
all  the  wray,  in  the  most  condescending  manner. 

How  the  whole  school  stared  to  see  Dick  Giles  come  in  ! 
No  one,  however,  dared  to  say  what  he  thought.  The  busi- 
ness went  on,  and  Dick  slunk  into  a  coiner,  partly  to  hide 
his  rags,  and  partly  to  hide  his  sin ;  for  last  Sunday's  trans- 
action sat  heavy  on  his  heart,  not  because  he  had  stolen  the 
apples,  but  because  Tom  Price  had  been  accused.  This,  I 
say,  made  him  slink  behind.  Poor  boy  !  he  little  thought 
there  wras  One  saw  him  who  sees  all  things,  and  from  whose 
eye  no  hole  nor  corner  can  hide  the  sinner :  "  For  he  is 
about  our  bed,  and  about  our  path,  and  spieth  out  all  our 
ways." 

It  was  the  custom  in  that  school,  and  an  excellent  custom 
it  is,  for  the  master,  who  was  a  good  and  wise  man,  to  mark 
down  in  his  pocket-book  all  the  events  of  the  week,  that  he 
might  turn  them  to  some  account  in  his  Sunday  evening 
instructions ;  such  as  any  useful  story  in  the  newspaper, 
any  account  of  boys  being  drowned  as  they  were  out  in  a 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  225 

pleasure  boat  on  Sundays,  any  sudden  death  in  the  parish, 
or  any  other  remarkable  visitation  of  Providence  ;  inso- 
much, that  many  young  people  in  the  place,  who  did  not 
belong  to  the  school,  and  many  parents  also,  used  to  drop 
in  for  an  hour  on  a  Sunday  evening,  when  they  were  sure 
to  hear  something  profitable,  The  minister  greatly  ap- 
proved this  practice,  and  often  called  in  himself,  which  was 
a  great  support  to  the  master,  and  encouragement  to  the 
people  who  attended. 

The  master  had  taken  a  deep  concern  in  the  story  of 
Widow  Brown's  apple-tree.  He  could  not  believe  Tom 
Price  was  guilty,  nor  dared  he  pronounce  him  innocent  ; 
but  he  resolved  to  turn  the  instructions  of  the  present 
evening  to  this  subject.  He  began  thus  :  "My  dear  boys, 
however  light  some  of  you  may  make  of  robbing  an  orch- 
ard, yet  I  have  often  told  you  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
little  sin,  if  it  be  wilful  or  habitual.  I  wish  now  to  explain 
to  you,  also,  that  there  is  hardly  such  a  thing  as  a  single 
solitary  sin.  You  know  I  teach  you  not  merely  to  repeat 
the  commandments  as  an  exercise  for  your  memory,  but  as 
a  rule  for  your  conduct.  If  you  were  to  come  here  only  to 
learn  to  read  and  spell  on  a  Sunday,  I  should  think  that 
was  not  employing  God's  day  for  God's  work  ;  but  I  teach 
you  to  read  that  you  may,  by  this  means,  come  so  to 
understand  the  Bible  and  the  Catechism,  as  to  make  every 
text  in  the  one,  and  every  question  and  answer  in  the  other, 
to  be  so  fixed  in  your  hearts,  that  they  may  bring  forth  in 
you  the  fruits  of  good  living." 

Master.  Eow  many  commandments  are  there? 

Boy.  Ten. 

Master.  How  many  commandments  did  that  boy  break 
who  stole  Widow  Brown's  apples! 

Boy.  Only  <>ne,  master;  the  eighth. 

Master.  What  is  the  eighth  ? 

10* 


226  BLACK     GILES    THE     POACHER. 

Boy    Thou  shalr1  not  steal. 

Master.  And  yv,J  are  very  sure  that  this  was  the  only 
one  he  broke  ?  N»w  suppose  I  could  prove  to  you  that  he 
probably  broke  not  less  than  six  out  of  those  ten  command- 
ments, which  the  great  Lord  of  heaven  himself  stooped 
down  from  his  et^'-nal  glory  to  deliver  to  men,  would  you 
not,  then,  think  ;'  a  terrible  thing  to  steal,  whether  apples 
or  guineas  ? 

Boy.  Yes,  master. 

Master.  I  will  put  the  case.  Some  wicked  boy  has  rob- 
bed Wdow  Brown's  orchard.  (Here  the  eyes  of  every  one 
were  turned  on  poor  Tom  Price,  except  those  of  Dick  Giles, 
who  fixed  his  on  the  ground.)  I  accuse  no  one,  continued 
the  master;  Tom  Price  is  a  good  boy,  and  was  not  missing 
at  th  i  time  of  the  robbery  ;  these  are  two  reasons  why  I  pre- 
sum  that  he  is  innocent ;  but  whoever  it  was,  you  allow  that 
by  s  ;aling  these  apples  he  broke  the  eighth  commandment  ? 

/  yy.  Yes,  master. 

.    aster.  On  what  day  were  these  apples  stolen  ? 
■>y.  On  Sunday. 
raster.  What  is  the  fourth  commandment  ? 

Boy.  Thou  shalt  keep  holy  the  Sabbath-day. 

Master.  Does  that  person  keep  holy  the  Sabbath-day 
who  loiters  in  an  orchard  on  Sunday,  when  he  should  be  at 
church,  and  steals  apples  when  he  ought  to  be  saying  his 
prayers  ? 

Boy.  No,  master. 

Master.  What  command  does  he  break  ? 

Boy.  The  fourth. 

Master.  Suppose  this  boy  had  parents  who  had  sent  him 
to  church,  and  that  he  had  disobeyed  them  by  not  going, 
would  that  be  keeping  the  fifth  commandment  ? 

Boy.  No,  master  ;  for  the  fifth  commandment  says,  Thou 
shalt  honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother. 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  227 

This  was  the^  only  part  of  the  case  in  which  poor  Dick 
Giles's  heart  did  not  smite  him  ;  he  knew  he  had  disobeyed 
no  father  ;  for  his  father,  alas  !  was  still  wickeder  than  him- 
self, and  had  brought  him  up  to  commit  the  sin.  But  what 
a  wretched  comfort  was  this  !     The  master  went  on. 

Master.  Suppose,  this  boy  earnestly  coveted  this  fruit, 
though  it  belonged  to  another  person,  would  that  be  right? 

Boij.  No,  master  ;  for  the  tenth  commandment  says,  thou 
shalt  not  covet. 

Master.  Very  well.  Here  ai"e  four  of  God's  positive 
commands  already  broken.  Now  do  you  think  thieves 
ever  scruple  to  use  wicked  words  ? 

Boy.  I  am  afraid,  not,  master. 

Here  Hick  Giles  was  not  so  hardened  but  that  he  re- 
membered how  many  curses  had  passed  between  him  and 
his  father  while  thev  were  nlliiiix  the  bao-s,  and  he  was 
afraid  to  look  up.     The  master  went  on. 

I  will  now  go  one  step  further.  If  the  thief,  to  all  his 
other  sins,  has  added  that  of  accusing  the  innocent  to  save 
himself,  if  he  should  break  the  ninth  commandment,  by 
bearing  false  witness  against  a  harmless  neighbor,  then  six 
commandments  are  broken  for  an  apple.  But  if  it  be  other- 
wise, if  Tom  Price  should  be  found  guilty,  it  is  not  his  good 
character  shall  save  him.  I  shall  shed  tears  over  him,  but 
punish  him  I  must,  and  that  severely.  "  No,  that  you 
sha'n't,"  roared  out  Hick  Giles,  who  sprung  from  his  hiding 
place,  fell  on  his  knees,  and  burst  out  a  crying;  "  Tom  Price 
is  as  good  a  boy  as  ever  lived ;  it  was  father  and  I  who 
stole  the  apples  ?" 

It  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  have  seen  the  joy 
of  the  master,  the  modest  blushes  of  Tom  Price,  and  the 
satisfaction  of  every  honest  boy  in  the  school.  All  shook 
hands  with  Tom,  and  oven  Hick  got  some  portion  of  pity. 
I  wish  I  had  room  to  give  my  readers  the  moving  exhoru>- 


228  BLACK     GILES     THE     POACH  Ell. 

tion  which  the  master  gave.  But  while  Mr.  Wilson  left 
the  guilty  boy  to  the  management  of  the  master,  he  thougl  t 
it  became  him,  as  a  minister  and  a  magistrate,  to  go  to  the 
extent  of  the  law  in  punishing  the  father.  Early  on  the 
Monday  morning  he  sent  to  apprehend  Giles.  In  the  mean- 
time Mr.  Wilson  was  sent  for  to  a  gardener's  house  two 
miles  distant,  to  attend  a  man  who  was  dying.  This  was  a 
duty  to  which  all  others  gave  way  in  his  mind.  He  set 
out  directly;  but  what  was  his  surprise,  on  his  arrival,  to 
see,  on  a  little  bed  on  the  floor,  poaching  Giles  lying  in  all 
the  agonies  of  death  !  Jack  Weston,  the  same  poor  young 
man  against  whom  Giles  had  informed  for  killing  a  hare, 
was  kneeling  by  him,  offering  him  some  broth,  and  talking 
to  him  in  the  kindest  manner.  Mr.  Wilson  begged  to  know 
the  meaning  of  all  this ;  and  Jack  Weston  spoke  as  follows  : 
"  At  four  in  the  morning,  as  I  was  going  out  to  mow, 
passing  under  the  high  wall  of  this  garden,  I  heard  a  most 
dismal  moaning.  The  nearer  I  came,  the  more  dismal  it 
grew.  At  last,  who  should  I  see  but  poor  Giles  groaning, 
and  struggling  under  a  quantity  of  bricks  and  stones,  but 
not  able  to  stir.  The  day  before  he  had  marked  a  fine  large 
net  on  this  old  wall,  and  resolved  to  steal  it,  for  he  thought 
it  might  do  as  well  to  catch  partridges  as  to  preserve  cher- 
ries ;  so,  sir,  standing  on  the  very  top  of  this  wall,  and  tug- 
ging with  all  his  might  to  loosen  the  net  from  the  hooks 
which  fastened  it,  down  came  Giles,  net,  wall,  and  all ;  for 
the  wall  was  gone  to  decay.  It  was  very  high,  indeed,  ami 
poor  Giles  not  only  broke  his  thigh,  but  has  got  a  terrible 
blow  on  his  head,  and  is  bruised  all  over  like  a  mummy. 
On  seeing  me,  sir,  poor  Giles  cried  out,  'Oh,  Jack!  I  did 
tvy  to  ruin  thee  by  lodging  that  information,  and  now  thou 
wi  t  be  revenged  by  letting  me  lie  here  and  perish.'  '  <  rod 
forbid,  Giles  !'  cried  I  ;  '  thou  shalt  see  what  sort  of  rev 
a  Christian  takes.'     So,  sir,  I  sent  off  the  gardener's  boy 


BLACK     GILES     THE     POACHER.  229 

to  fetch  a  surgeon,  while  I  scampered  home  and  brought 
on  my  back  this  bit  of  a  hammock,  which  is,  indeed,  my 
own  bed,  and  put  Giles  upon  it :  we  then  lifted  him  up, 
bed  and  all,  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had  been  a  gentleman, 
and  brought  him  in  here.  My  wife  has  just  brought  him 
a  drop  of  nice  broth ;  and  now,  sir,  as  I  have  done  what 
I  could  for  this  poor  perishing  hody,  it  was  I  who  took 
the  liberty  to  send  to  you  to  come  to  try  to  help  his  poor 
soul,  for  the  doctor  says  he  can't  live." 

Mr.  "Wilson  could  not  help  saying  to  himself,  "  Such  an 
action  as  this  is  worth  a  whole  volume  of  comments  on  that 
precept  of  our  blessed  Master,  Love  your  enemies  ;  do  good 
to  them  that  hate  you.'1'1  Giles's  dying  groans  confirmed  the 
sad  account  Weston  had  just  given.  The  poor  wretch 
could  neither  pray  himself  nor  attend  to  the  minister.  He 
could  only  cry  out,  "  Oh  !  sir,  what  will  become  of  me  ? 
I  don't  know  how  to  repent.  <\  my  poor  wicked  children! 
Sir,  I  have  bred  them  all  up  in  sin  and  ignorance.  Have 
mercy  on  them,  sir;  let  me  not  meet  them  in  the  place  of 
torment  to  which  I  am  going.  Lord  grant  them  that  time 
for  repentance  which  1  have  thrown  away  !"  He  1  inguished 
a  few  days,  and  died  in  great  misery  : — a  fresh  and  sad 
instance  that  people  who  abuse  the  grace  of  God,  and  resist 
his  Spirit,  find  it  difficult  to  repent  when  they  will. 

Except  the  minister  and  Jack  Weston,  no  one  came  to 
see  poor  Giles, besides  Tommy  Price,  who  had  been  so  sadly 
wronged  by  him.  Tom  often  broughl  him  his  own  rice- 
milk  or  apple-dumpling ;  and  Giles,  ignorant  and  depraved 
as  be  was,  often  cried  oHt,  "That  he  thought  now  there 
must  be  some  truth  in  religion,  since  it  taught  even  a  boy 
to  d  ny  himself,  and  to  forgive  an  injury.  .Mr.  Wilson,  the 
nexi  Sunday,  made  a  moving  discourse  on  the  danger  of 
what  are  calle  I  petty  offenses.  This,  together  with  the  aw- 
ful death  of  Giles,  produced  such  an  effect  that  no  poacher 
has  been  able  to  show  his  head  in  that  parish  ever  since. 


TAWNEY      RACHEL; 

OR,  THE  FORTUNE  TELLER; 

WITH  SOME   ACCOUNT  OF  DREAMS,    OMENS,    AND   CONJURORS. 


Tawney  Rachel  was  the  wife  of  poaching  Giles.  Thera 
seemed  to  ho  a  conspiracy  in  Giles's  whole  family  to  main- 
tain themselves  by  tricks  and  pilfering.  Regular  labor  and 
honest  industry  did  not  suit  their  idle  habits.  They  had  a 
sort  of  genius  at  finding  out  every  unlawful  means  to  sup- 
port  a  vagabond  life.  Rachel  traveled  the  country  with  a 
basket  on  her  arm.  She  pretended  to  get  her  bread  by 
selling  laces,  cabbage-nets,  ballads,  and  history  books,  and 
used  to  buy  old  rags  and  rabbit-skins.  Many  honest  people 
trade  in  these  things,  and  I  am  sure  I  do  not  mean  to  say  a 
word  against  honest  people,  let  them  trade  in  what  they 
will.  But.Rachel  only  made  this  traffic  a  pretense  for  get- 
ting admittance  into  farmers'  kitchens  in  order  to  tell 
fortunes. 

She  was  continually  practicing  on  the  credulity  of  silly 
girls ;  and  took  advantage  of  their  ignorance  to  cheat  and 
deceive  them.  Many  an  innocent  servant  has  she  caused 
to  be  suspected  of  a  robbery,  while  she  herself,  perhaps,  was 
in  league  with  the  thief.  Many  a  harmless  maid  has  she 
brought  to  ruin  by  first  contriving  plots  and  events  herself, 
and  then  pretending  to  foretell  them.  She  had  not,  to  be 
sure,  the  power  of  really  foretelling  things,  because  she  had 


TAWNEY     RACHEL.  281 

no  power  of  seeing  into  futurity  ;  but  she  had  the  art  some- 
times to  bring  them  about  according  as  she  foretold  them. 
So  she  got  that  credit  for  her  wisdom  which  really  belonged 
to  her  wickedness. 

Rachel  was  alsoa  famous  interpreter  of  dreams,  and  could 
distinguish  exactly  between  the  fate  of  any  two  persons  who 
happened  to  have  a  mole  on  the  right  or  the  left  cheek. 
She  had  a  cunning  way  of  getting  herself  off  when  any  of 
her  prophecies  failed.  When  she  explained  a  dream  ac- 
cording to  the  natural  appearance  of  things,  and  it  did  not 
come  to  pass;  then  she  would  get  out  of  the  scrape  by 
Baying,  that  this  sort  of  dreams  went  by  contraries.  Now 
of  two  very  opposite  things,  the  chance  always  is  that  one 
of  them  may  turn  out  to  be  true  ;  so  in  either  case  she  kept 
up  the  cheat. 

Rachel,  in  one  of  her  rambles,  stopped  at  the  house  of 
Farmer  Jenkins.  She  contrived  to  call  when  she  knew  the 
master  of  the  house  was  from  home,  which  indeed  was  her 
usual  way.  She  knocked  at  the  door ;  the  maids  being  in 
the  field  haymaking,  Mrs.  Jenkins  went  to  open  it  herself. 
Rachel  asked  her  if  she  would  please  to  let  her  light  her 
pipel  This  was  a  common  pretense,  when  she  could  find 
no  other  way  of  getting  into  a  house.  While  she  was  fill- 
ing her  pipe,  she  looked  at  Mrs.  Jenkins,  and  said,  she 
could  tell  her  some  good  fortune.  The  farmer's  wife,  who 
was  a  very  inoffensive,  but  a  weak  and  superstitious  wo- 
man, was  curious  to  know  what  she  meant.  Rachel  then 
looked  ah.-ii!  carefully,  and  shutting  the  door  with  a  mys- 
terious air,  asked  her  if  she  was  sure  nobody  would  hear 
them.  This  appearance  of  mystery  was  at  once  delightful 
and  terrifying  to  Mrs.  Jenkins,  who,  with  trembling  agita- 
tion, hid  the  cunningwoman  speak  out.  "Th  n,"  said  Ra- 
chel in  a  solemn  whisper, "there  is  to  my  certain  knowle 
a  pot  of  money  hid  under  one  of  the  stones  in  your  cellar.'" 


232  TAWNEY     RACHEL; 

"Indeed!1'  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  "it  is  impossible,  for  now  1 
think  of  it,  I  dreamed  lust  night  I  was  in  prison  for  debt." 
"Did  you  really?"  said  Rachel;  " that  is  quite  surprising. 
Did  you  dream  this  before  twelve  o'clock  or  after  ?"  "  O  it 
was  this  morning,  just  before  I  awoke."  "  Then  I  am  sure 
it  is  true,  for  morning  dreams  always  go  by  contraries,"  ciied 
Rachel.  "  How  lucky  it  was  you  dreamed  it  so  late."  Mrs. 
Jenkins  could  hardly  contain  her  joy,  and  asked  how  the 
money  was  to  be  come  at.  "  There  is  but  one  way,"  said 
Rachel :  "  I  must  go  into  the  cellar.  I  know  by  my  art 
under  which  stone  it  lies,  but  I  must  not  tell."  Then  they 
both  went  down  into  the  cellar,  but  Rachel  refused  to  point 
out  the  stone  unless  Mrs.  Jenkins  would  put  five  pieces  of 
gold  into  a  basin  and  do  as  she  directed.  The  simple  wo- 
man, instead  of  turning  her  out  of  doors  for  a  cheat,  did  as 
she  was  bid.  She  put  the  guineas  into  a  basin  which  she 
gave  into  Rachel's  hand.  Rachel  strewed  some  while  pow- 
der over  the  gold,  muttered  some  barbarous  words,  and 
pretended  to  perforin  the  black  art.  She  then  told  Mrs. 
Jenkins  to  put  the  basin  quietly  down  within  the  cellar; 
telling  her  that  if  she  offered  to  look  into  it,  or  even  to 
speak  a  word,  the  charm  would  be  broken.  She  also  di- 
rected her  to  lock  the  cellar  door,  and  on  no  pretense  to 
open  it  in  less  than  forty-eight  hours.  "  If"  added  she,  "  you 
closely  follow  these  directions,  then,  by  the  power  of  my  art, 
you  will  find  the  basin  conveyed  to  the  very  stone  under 
which  the  money  lies  hid,  and  a  fine  treasure  it  be  !"  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  who  firmly  believed  every  word  the  woman  said, 
did  I    as  she  was  told,  and  Rachel  took  her  leave  with 

a  handsome  reward. 

When  Farmer  Jenkins  can!..-  home  he  desiiv.l  his  wife  to 
draw  him  a  cup  of  cider  ;  this  she  put  off  so  long  that  he 
began  to  be  displeased.  At  last  she  begged  he  would  besc 
good  as  to  drink  a  little  beer  instead.     lie  insisted  on  know- 


OK,     THE     FORTUNE     TELLER.  233 

ing  the  reason,  and  when  at  last  he  grew  angry,  she  told 
him  all  that  bad  passed ;  and  owned  that  as  the  pot  of  gold 
had  happened  to  be  in  the  cider  cellar,  she  did  not  dare  open 
the  door,  as  she  was  sure  it  would  break  the  charm.  "  And 
it  would  be  a  pity  you  know,"  said  she,  "  to  lose  a  good  for- 
tune for  the  sake  of  a  draught  of  cider."  The  farmer,  who 
was  not  so  easily  imposed  upon,  suspected  a  trick.  Lie  de- 
manded the  key,  and  went  and  opened  the  cellar  door ; 
there  he  found  the  basin,  and  in  it  five  round  pieces  of  tin 
covered  with  powder.  Mrs.  Jenkins  burst  out  a-crying; 
but  the  farmer  thought  of  nothing  but  of  getting  a  warrant 
to  apprehend  the  cunning  woman.  Indeed  she  well  proved 
her  claim  to  that  name,  when  she  insisted  that  the  cellar 
door  might  be  kept  locked  till  she  had  time  to  get  out  of 
the  reach  of  all  pursuit. 

Poor  Sally  Evans  !  I  am  sure  she  rued  the  day  that  ever 
she  listened  to  a  fortune  teller.  Sally  was  as  harmless  a 
girl  as  ever  churned  a  pound  of  butter;  but  Sally  was 
credulous,  ignorant,  and  superstitious.  She  delighted  in 
dream  books,  and  had  consulted  all  the  cunning  women  in 
the  country  to  tell  her  whether  the  two  moles  on  her  cheek 
denoted  that  she  was  to  have  two  husbands.  <>r  two  children. 
If  she  picked  up  an  old  horse-shoe  going  to  church,  she  was 
sure  that  would  be  a  lucky  week.  She  never  made  a  black 
pudding  without  borrowing  one  of  the  parson's  old  wigs  to 
hang  in  the  chimney,  firmly  believing  there  was  no  other 
means  to  preserve  them  from  burning.  She  would  never 
goto  bed  on  Midsummer  eve  without  sticking  up  in  her 
room  the  well-known  plant  called  Midsummer-Men,  as  the 
bending  of  the  leaves  to  the  right  or  to  the  left  would  nol 
fail  to  tell  her  whether  Jacob,  of  whom  we  shall  speak  pres- 
ently, was  true  or  false.  She  would  rather  go  live  miles 
about  than  pass  near  a  church-yard  at  night.  Every 
seventh  year  she  would  not  eat  beans  because  they  grew 


234  TAWNEY    RACHEL; 

downward  in  the  pod,  instead  of  upward ;  and,  though  a 
very  neat  girl,  she  would  rather  have  gone  with  her  gown 
open  than  to  have  taken  a  pin  from  an  old  woman,  for  fear 
of  being  bewitched.  Poor  Sally  had  so  many  unlucky  days 
in  her  calen  lar,  that  a  large  portion  of  her  time  became  of 
little  use,  because  on  these  days  she  did  not  dare  set  about 
any  new  work.  And  she  would  have  refused  the  best  offer 
in  the  country  if  made  to  her  on  a  Friday,  which  she 
thought  so  unlucky  a  day  that  she  often  said  what  a  pity  it 
was  that  there  were  any  Friday  in  the  week.  Sally  had 
twenty  pounds  left  her  by  her  grandmother.  She  had  long 
been  courted  by  Jacob,  a  sober  lad,  with  whom  she  lived 
fellow  servant  at  a  creditable  farmer's.  Honest  Jacob,  like 
his  namesake  of  old,  thought  it  little  to  wait  seven  years  to 
get  this  damsel  to  wife,  because  of  the  love  he  bore  her,  for 
Sally  had  promised  to  many  him  when  he  could  match  her 
twenty  pounds  with  another  of  his  own. 

Now  there  was  one  Robert,  a  rambling  idle  voun«T  o-ar- 
dener,  who  instead  of  sitting  down  steadily  in  one  place, 
used  to  roam  about  the  country,  and  do  odd  jobs  where  he 
could  get  them.  No  one  understood  any  thing  about  him, 
except  that  he  was  a  down-looking  fellow,  who  came  no- 
body knew  whence,  and  got  his  bread  nobody  knew  how, 
and  never  had  a  penny  in  his  pocket.  Robert,  who  was 
now  in  the  neighborhood,  happened  to  hear  of  Sally  Evans 
and  her  twenty  pounds.  He  immediately  conceived  a  long- 
ing desire  for  the  latter.  So  he  went  to  his  old  friend  Rachel 
the  fortune  teller,  told  her  all  he  had  heard  of  Sally,  and 
promised  if  she  could  bring  about  a  marriage  between  them, 
she  should  go  shares  in  the  money. 

Rachel  undertook  the  business.  She  set  off  to  the  farm- 
house, and  fell  to  singing  one  of  her  most  enticing  songs 
just  under  the  dairy  window,  Sally  was  so  struck  with  the 
pretty  tune,  which  was  unhappily  used,  as  is  too  often  the 


OR,     THE     FORTUNE     TELLER.  235 

case,  to  set  off  some  very  loose  words,  that  she  jumped  up, 
dropped  the  skimming  dish  into  the  cream  and  ran  out  to 
buy  the  song.     While  she  stooped  down  to  rummage  the 
basket  for  those  songs  which  had  the  most  tragical  pictures 
(for  Sally  ha.l  a  tender  heart,  and  delighted  in   whatever 
was  mournful)  Rachel  looked  stedfastly  in  her  face,  and  told 
her  she  knew  by  art  that  she  was  born  to  good  fortune,  but 
advised  her  not  to  throw  herself  away.     "  These  two  moles 
on  your  cheek,"  added  she,  "  show  you  are  in  some  danger." 
"  Do  they  denote  husbands  or  children  V  cried  Sally,  start- 
ing up,  and   letting  fall  the  song  of  the   Children  in  the 
Wood.     "Husbands,"  muttered  Rachel     "Alas!  poor  Ja- 
cob!" said   Sally,  mournfully,  "  then  he  will  die  first,  won't 
he  ?"     "  Mum  for  that,"  quoth  the  fortune  teller,  "  I  will  say 
no  more-"     Sally  was  impatient,  but  the  more  curiosity  she 
liscovered,  the  more  mystery  Rachel  affected.     At  last,  she 
said,  "  If  you  will  cross  my  hand  with  a  piece  of  silver,  I 
will  tell  your  fortune.      15y  the  power  of  my  art  I  can  do 
ihis  three  ways  ;  first  by  cards,  next  by  the  lines  on  your 
hand,  or  b\  turning  a  cup  of  tea  grounds  ;  which  will  you 
have?"     "O,  all!  all!"  cried  Sally,  looking  up  with  rever- 
ence to  this  sun-burnt  oraele  of  wisdom,  who  was  possessed 
of  no  less  than  three  different  ways  of  diving  into  the  secrets 
of  futurity.     Alas !  persons  of  better  sense  than  Sally  have 
been  so  taken  in  ;  the  more  is  the  pity.     The  poor  girl  said 
she  would  run  upstairs  to  her  little  box  where  she  kept  her 
money  tied  up  in  a  bit  of  an  old  glove,  and  would   bring 
down  a  blight  queen  Anne's  sixpence  verycrooked.     "I  am 
sure,"  added  she,  "ii   is  a  lucky  one,  for  it  cured  me  of  a 
very  bad  ague  last  spring,  by  only  laying  it  nine  nights  un- 
der my  pillow  without  speaking  a  Word.     But  then  you 
must  know  what  gave  the  virtue  to  this  sixpence  was,  that 
it  had  belonged  to  three  young  nien  of  the  name  of  John  ; 
I  am  sure  I  had  work  enough  to  get  it.     But  true  it  is,  it 


236  TAWNEY    RACHEL ; 

certainly  cured  me.  It  must  be  the  sixpence  you  know,  for 
I  am  sure  I  did  nothing  else  for  my  ague,  except  by  taking 
some  bitter  stuff  every  three  hours  which  the  doctor  called 
bark.  To  be  sure  I  had  no  ague  soon  after  I  took  it,  but  I 
am  certain  it  was  owing  to  the  crooked  sixpence,  and  not  to 
the  bark.  And  so,  good  woman,  you  may  come  in  if  you 
will,  for  there  is  not  a  soul  in  the  house  but  me."  This  was 
the  very  thing  Rachel  wanted  to  know,  and  very  glad  she 
was  to  learn  it. 

While  Sally  was  above  stairs  untying  her  glove,  Rachel, 
slipped  into  the  parlor,  took  a  small  silver  cup  from  the 
beaufet,  and  clapped  it  into  her  pocket.  Sally  ran  down 
lamenting  that  she  had  lost  her  sixpence,  which  she  verily 
believed  was  owing  to  her  having  put  it  into  a  left  glove, 
instead  of  a  right  one.  Rachel  comforted  her  by  saying, 
that  if  she  gave  her  two  plain  ones  instead,  the  charm  would 
work  just  as  well.  Simple  Sally  thought  herself  happy  to 
be  let  off  so  easily,  never  calculating  that  a  smooth  shilling 
was  wortli  two  crooked  sixpences.  But  this  skill  was  a  part 
of  the  black  art  in  which  Rachel  excelled.  She  took  the 
money  and  began  to  examine  the  lines  of  Sally's  left  hand. 
She  bit  her  withered  lip,  shook  her  head,  and  bade  her 
poor  dupe  beware  of  a  young  man  who  had  black  hair. 
"  No,  indeed,"  cried  Sally,  all  in  a  fright,  "  you  mean  black 
eyes,  for  our  Jacob  has  got  brown  hair  ;  'tis  his  eyes  that 
are  black."  "  That  is  the  very  thing  I  was  going  to  say," 
muttered  Hachel ;  "I  meant  eyes,  though  I  said  hair,  for  I 
know  his  hair  is  as  brown  as  a  chestnut,  and  his  eyes  as 
black  as  a  sloe."  "  So  they  are,  sure  enough,"  cried  Sally  ; 
"how  in  the  world  could  you  have  known  that?"  forget- 
ting that  she  herself  had  just  told  her  so.  And  it  is  thus 
that  these  hags  pick  out  of  the  credulous  all  which  they 
afterwards  pretend  to  reveal  to  them.  "  O,  I  know  a  pretty 
deal  more  than  that,"  said  Rachel,  "  but  you  must  beware 


OR,     THE     FORTUNE     TELLER.  237 

of  this  man."  "  Why,  so,"  cried  Sally,  with  great  quick- 
ness. "  Because,"  answered  Rachel,  "  you  are  fated  to 
many  a  man  worth  a  hundred  of  him,  who  has  blue  eyes, 
light  hair,  and  a  stoop  in  the  shoulders."  "  No,  indeed,  but 
[  can't,"  said  Sally;  "I  bave  promised  Jacob,  and  Jacob  I 
will  marry."  "  You  can  not,  child,"  returned  Rachel  in  a 
solemn  tone ;  "  it  is  out  of  your  power,  you  are  fated  to 
marry  the  blue  eyes  and  light  hair."  "Nay,  indeed,"  said 
Sally,  sighing  deeply,  "  if  I  am  fated,  I  must ;  I  know  there's 
no  resisting  one's  fate."  This  is  a  common  cant  with  poor 
deluded  girls,  who  are  not  aware  that  they  themselves  make 
their  fate  by  their  folly,  and  then  complain  there  is  no  re- 
sisting it.  "What  can  I  do  ?"  said  Sally.  "  I  will  tell  you 
that,  too,"  said  Rachel.  "  You  must  take  a  walk  next  Sun- 
day afternoon  to  the  church-yard,  and  the  first  man  you 
meet  in  a  blue  coat,  with  a  large  posey  of  pinks  and  south- 
ern-wood in  his  bosom,  sitting  on  the  church-yard  wall, 
about  seven  o'clock,  he  will  be  the  man."  "  Provided," 
said  Sally,  much  disturbed,  "  that  he  has  blue  eyes  and 
stoops."  "  It  to  be  sure,"  said  Rachel,  "  otherwise  it  is  not 
the  right  man."  "But  if  I  should  mistake,"  said  Sally, 
"for  two  men  may  happen  to  have  a  coat  and  eyes  of  the 
same  color?"  "To  prevent  that,"  replied  Rachel,  "if  it  is 
the  right  man,  the  two  first  letters  of  his  name  will  be  R.  P. 
This  man  has  got  money  beyond  sea."  "0,  I  do  not  value 
money,"  said  Sally,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "for  I  love  Ja- 
cob better  than  house  or  land ;  but  if  I  am  fateJ  to  many 
another,  I  can't  help  it;  you  know  there  is  no  struggling 
against  my  fate." 

Poor  Sally  thought  of  nothing,  and  dreamed  of  nothing,  all 
the  week  but  the  blue  coat  and  the  blue  eyes.  She  made  a 
hundred  blunders  at  her  work.  She  put  her  rennet  into  the 
butterpan,  and  her  skimming-dish  into  the  cheese-tub.  She 
gave  the  curds  to  the  hogs,  and  put  the  whey  into  the  vats. 


238  TAWNEY     RACHEL, 

She  put  her  little  knife  out  of  her  pocket  for  fear  it  should 
cut  love,  and  woul  1  uot  stay  in  the  kitchen  if  there  was  not 

an  even  number  of  people,  lest  it  should  break  the  charm. 
She  grew  cold  and  mysterious  in  her  behavior  to  faithful 
Jacob,  whom  she  truly  loved.  But  the  more  she  thought 
of  the  fortune  teller,  the  more  she  was  convinced  that  brown 
hair  and  black  eyes  were  not  what  she  was  fated  to  marry, 
and  therefore  though  she  trembled  to  think  it,  Jacob  could 
not  be  the  man.  t 

On  Sunday  she  was  too  uneasy  to  o-o  to  church  ;  for  poor 
Sally  had  never  been  taught  that  her  being  uneasy  was  only 
a  fresh  reason  why  she  ought  to  go  thither.  She  spent  the 
whole  afternoon  in  her  little  garret,  dressing  in  all  her  best. 
First  she  put  on  her  red  riband,  which  she  had  bought  at 
last  Lammas  fair;  then  she  recollected  that  red  was  an  un- 
lucky color,  and  changed  it  for  a  blue  riband,  tied  in  a  true 
lover's  knot ;  but  suddenly  calling  to  mind  that  poor  Jacob 
had  bought  this  knot  for  her  of  a  pedlar  at  the  door,  and 
that  she  had  promised  to  wear  it  for  his  sake,  her  heart 
smote  her,  and  she  laid  it  by,  sighing  to  think  she  was  not 
fated  to  marry  the  man  who  had  given  it  to  her.  Wnen 
she  had  looked  at  herself  twenty  times  in  the  glass  (for  one 
vain  action  always  brings  on  another)  she  set  off  tremb- 
ling and  shaking  every  step  she  went.  She  walked  eagerly 
toward  the  church -yard,  not  daring  to  look  to  the  right  or 
/eft,  for  fear  she  would  spy  Jacob,  who  woul  1  have  offered 
to  walk  with  her,  an  1  so  have  spoilt  it  all.  As  soon  as  she 
came  within  sight  of  the  wall,  she  spied  a  man  silling  up- 
on it :  her  heart  beat  violently.  She  looked  again  ;  but 
alas !  the  stranger  not  only  had  on  a  black  coat,  but  neither 
hair  nor  eyes  answered  the  description.  She  now  happened 
to  cast  her  eyes  on  the  church-clock,  and  found  she  was 
two  hours  before  her  time.  This  was  some  comfort.  She 
walked  away  and  got  rid  of  the  two  hours  as  well  as  she 


OR,     THE     FORTUNE     TELLER.  239 

could,  paying  great  attention  not  to  walk  over  any  straws 
which  lay  across,  and  carefully  looking  to  see  if  there  were 
never  an  old  horse-shoe  in  the  way,  that  infallible  symptom 
of  good-fortune.  While  the  clock  was  striking  seven,  she 
returned  to  the  church-yard,  and  O  !  the  wonderful  power  of 
fortune  tellers  !  there  she  saw  him  !  there  sat  the  very  man  ! 
his  hair  as  light  as  flax,  his  eyes  as  blue  as  butter-milk,  and 
his  shoulders  as  round  as  a  tub.  Every  tittle  agreed,  to  the 
very  nosegay  in  his  waistcoat  button-hole.  At  first,  indeed, 
she  thought  it  had  been  sweet-briar,  and  glad  to  catch  at  a 
straw,  whispered  to  herself,  It  is  not  he,  and  I  shall  marry 
Jacob  still ;  but  on  looking  again,  she  saw  it  was  southern- 
wood plain  enough,  and  that  of  course  all  was  over.  The 
man  accosted  her  with  some  very  nonsensical,  but  too  ac- 
ceptable, compliments.  She  was  naturally  a  modest  girl, 
and  but  for  Rachel's  wicked  arts,  would  not  have  had  cour- 
age to  talk  with  a  strange  man  :  but  how  could  she  resist 
her  fate  you  know  ?  After  a  little  discourse,  she  asked  him 
with  a  trembling  heart,  what  might  be  his  name  ?  Robert 
Price,  at  your  service,  was  the  answer.  "  Robert  Price, 
that  is  R.  P.  as  sure  as  I  am  alive,  and  the  fortune  teller  was 
a  witch  !  It  is  all  out !  O  the  wonderful  art  of  fortune 
tellers  1" 

The  little  sleep  she  had  that  night  was  disturbed  with 
dreams  of  graves,  and  ghosts,  and  funerals,  but  as  they 
were  morning  dreams,  she  knew  those  always  went  by  con- 
traries, and  thai,  a,  funeral  denoted  a,  wedding.  Still  a  sigh 
would  now  and  then  heave,  to  think  that  in  that  wedding 
Jacob  would  have  no  part.  Such  of  lny  readers  as  know 
the  power  which  superstition  has  over  the  weak  and  cred- 
ulous mind,  scarcely  need  be  told,  that  poor  Sally's  hap- 
piness was  soon  completed,  she  forgot  all  ber  vows  to 
Jacob  ;  she  at  once  forsook  an  honest  man  whom  she  loved, 
and  consented  to  marry  a  stranger,  of  whom  she    knew 


240  TAWNEY     RACHEL  ; 

nothing,  from  a  ridiculous  notion  that  she  was  compelled  to 
do  so  by  a  decree  which  she  had  it  not  in  her  power  to  re- 
sist. She  married  this  Robert  Price,  the  strange  gardener, 
whom  she  soon  found  to  be  very  worthless,  and  very  much 
in  debt.  He  had  no  such  thing  as  "  money  beyond  sea,"  as 
the  fortune  teller  had  told  her ;  but  alas  !  he  had  another 
wife  there.  He  got  immediate  possession  of  Sally's  twenty 
pounds.  Rachel  put  in  for  her  share,  but  he  refused  to  give 
her  a  farthing  and  bid  her  get  away  or  he  would  have  her 
taken  up  on  the  vagrant  act.  He  soon  ran  away  from  Sally, 
leaving:  her  to  bewail  her  own  weakness  ;  for  it  was  that 
indeed,  and  not  any  irresistible  fate,  which  had  been  the 
cause  of  her  ruin.  To  complete  her  misery,  she  herself  was 
suspected  of  having  stole  the  silver  cup  which  Rachel  had 
pocketed.  Her  master,  however,  would  not  prosecute  her, 
as  she  was  falling  into  a  deep  decline,  and  she  died  in  a  few 
months  of  a  broken  heart,  a  sad  warning  to  all  credulous 
girls. 

Rachel,  whenever  she  got  near  home,  used  to  drop  her 
trade  of  fortune  telling,  and  only  dealt  in  the  wares  of  her 
basket.  Mr.  Wilson,  the  clergyman,  found  her  one  day 
dealing  out  some  very  wicked  ballads  to  some  children.  He 
went  up  with  a  view  to  give  her  a  reprimand  ;  but  had  no 
sooner  begun  his  exhortation  than  up  came  a  constable,  fol- 
lowed by  several  people.  "  There  she  is,  that  is  the  old 
witch  who  tricked  my  wife  out  of  the  five  guineas,"  said 
one  of  them ;  "  do  your  office,  constable,  seize  that  old  hag. 
She  may  tell  fortunes  and  find  pots  of  gold  in  Taunton  jail, 
for  there  she  will  have  nothing  else  to  do  !"  This  was  that 
very  Farmer  Jenkins,  whose  wife  had  been  cheated  by  Rachel 
of  the  five  guineas.  He  had  taken  pains  to  trace  her  to 
her  own  parish  :  he  did  not  so  much  value  the  loss  of  the 
money,  as  he  thought  it  was  a  duty  he  owed  the  public  to 
clear  the  country  of  such  vermin.     Mr.  Wilson  immediately 


OR,     THE     FORTUNE     TELLER.  241 

committed  her.  She  took  her  trial  at  the  next  assizes, 
when  she  was  sentenced  to  a  year's  imprisonment.  In  the 
mean  time,  the  pawnbroker  to  whom  she  had  sold  the  silver 
cup,  which  she  had  stolen  from  poor  Sally's  master,  im- 
peached her ;  and  as  the  robbery  was  fully  proved  upon 
Rachel,  she  was  sentenced  for  this  crime  to  Botany  Bay  ; 
and  a  happy  day  it  was  for  the  county  of  Somerset,  when 
such  a  nuisance  was  sent  out  of  it.  She  was  transported 
much  about  the  same  time  that  her  husband  Giles  lost  his 
life  in  stealing  the  net  from  the  garden  wall,  as  related  in 
the  second  part  of  poaching  Giles. 

I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  print,  this  little  history,  as 
a  kind  of  warning  to  all  young  men  and  maidens  not  to 
have  any  thing  to  say  to  cheats,  impostors,  cunning  women, 
fortune  tellers,  conjurors,  and  interpreters  of  dreams.  Lis- 
ten to  me,  your  true  friend,  when  I  assure  you  that  God 
never  reveals  to  weak  and  wicked  women  those  secret  de- 
signs of  his  providence,  which  no  human  wisdom  is  able  to 
foresee.  To  consult  these  false  oracles  is  not  only  foolish, 
but  sinful.  It  is  foolish,  because  they  arc  themselves  as 
ignorant  as  those  whom  they  preten  1  to  teach  ;  and  is  sin- 
ful, because  it  is  prying  iiro  that  futurity  which  God,  in 
mercy  as  well  as  wisdom,  hides  fiom  men.  God  indeed  or- 
ders all  things;  but  when  you  have  a  mind  to  do  a  foolish 
thing,  do  not  fancy  you  are  fated  to  do  it.  This  is  tempt- 
ing Providence,  and  not  trusting  him.  It  is  indeed  charg- 
ing God  with  folly.  Providence  is  his  gift,  and  you  obey 
him  better  when  you  make  use  of  prudence,  under  the  di- 
rection of  prayer,  than  when  you  m  idly  run  into  ruin,  and 
think  you  are  only  submitting  to  your  fate.  Never  fancy 
that  you  arc  compelled  to  undo  yourself,  or  to  ru  h  upon 
your  own  destruction,  in  compliance  with  any  supp  ised  fa- 
tality. Never  believe  that  God  conceals  his  will  from  a  s.  .ln-r 
Christian  who  obeys  his  laws,  and  reveals  it  to  a  vagabond 

11 


242  TAWNEY     RACHEL. 

gypsy  who  runs  up  and  down  breaking  the  laws  both  of 
God  and  man.  King  Saul  never  consulted  the  witch  till  he 
left  off  serviu£  God.  The  Bible  will  direct  us  what  to  do 
better  than  any  conjuror,  and  there  are  no  days  unlucky 
but  those  which  we  make  so  by  our  own  vanity,  sin,  and 
folly. 


STORIES 

FOIl  PERSONS  OF  THE  MIDDLE  RANKS. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MR.    FANTOM, 

(the  new  fashioned  philosopher,) 

AND   HIS   MAN  WILLIAM. 


Mr.  Fantom  was  a  retail  trader  in  the  city  of  London. 
As  he  had  no  turn  to  any  expensive  vices,  he  was  reckoned 
a  sober  decent  man,  butlie  was  covetous  and  proud,  selfish 
and  conceited.  As  soon  as  he  got  forward  in  the  world,  his 
vanity  began  to  display  itself,  though  not  in  the  ordinary 
method,  that  of  making  a  figure  and  living  away;  but  still 
he  was  tormented  with  a  longing  desire  to  draw  public 
notice,  and  to  distinguish  himself.  He  felt  a  general  dis- 
content at  what  he  was  with  a  general  ambition  to  be 
something  which  he  was  not ;  but  this  desire  had  not  yet 
turned  itself  to  any  particular  object.  It  was  not  by  his 
money  he  could  hope  to  be  distinguished,  for  half  his  ac- 
quaintance had  more,  and  a  man  must  be  rich  indeed  to  be 
noted  for  his  riches  in  London.  Mr.  Fantom's  mind  was  a 
prey  to  his  vain  imaginations.  lie  despised  all  those  little 
acts  of  kindness  and  charity  which  every  man  is  called  to 
perforin  every  day;  and  while  he  was  contriving  grand 
schemes,  which  lay  quite  out  of  his  reach,  he  neglected  the 
ordinary  .duties  of  life,  which  lay  directly  before  him. 
Selfishness  was  his  governing  principle.  He  fancied  he  was 
lost  in  the  mass  of  general  society  ;  and  the  usual  means 
of  attaching  importance  to  insignificance  occurred  to  him ; 


246  THE    HISTORY    OF     MR. 

that  of  getting  into  clubs  and  societies.  To  be  connected 
with  a  party  would  at  least  make  hiui  known  to  that  party, 
be  it  ever  so  low  and  contemptible  ;  and  this  local  import- 
ance it  is  which  draws  off  vain  minds  from  those  scenes  of 
general  usefulness,  in  which,  though  they  are  of  more  value, 
they  are  of  less  distinction. 

About  this  time  he  got  hold  of  a  famous  little  book, 
written  by  the  New  Philosopher,  whose  pestilent  docti  ines 
have  gone  about  seeking  whom  they  may  destroy  ;  these 
doctrines  found  a  ready  entrance  into  Mr.  Fantom's  mind  ; 
fi  mind  at  once  shallow  and  inquisitive,  speculative  and 
vain,  ambitious  and  dissatisfied.  As  almost  every  book  was 
new  to  him,  he  fell  into  the  common  error  of  those  who 
begin  to  read  late  in  life — that  of  thinking  that  what  he 
did  not  know  himself,  was  equally  new  to  others  ;  and  he 
was  apt  to  fancy  that  he  and  the  author  he  was  reading 
were  the  only  two  people  in  the  world  who  knew  any  thing. 
This  book  led  to  the  grand  discovery ;  he  had  now  found 
what  his  heart  panted  after — a  way  to  distinguish  himself. 
To  start  out  a  full  grown  philosopher  at  once,  to  be  wise 
without  education,  to  dispute  without  learning,  and  to  make 
proselytes  without  argument,  was  a  short  cut  to  fame,  which 
well  suited  his  vanity  and  his  ignorance.  He  rejoiced  that 
he  had  been  so  clever  as  to  examine  for  himself,  pitied  his 
friends  who  took  things  upon  trust,  and  was  resolved  to  as- 
sert the  freedom  of  his  own  mind.  To  a  man  fond  of  bold 
novelties  and  daring  paradoxes,  solid  argument  would  be 
flat,  and  truth  would  be  dull,  merely  because  it  is  not  new. 
Mr.  Fantom  believed,  not  in  proportion  to  the  strength  of 
the  evidence,  but  to  the  impudence  of  the  assertion.  The 
trampling  on  holy  ground  with  dirty  shoes,  the  smearing 
the  sanctuary  with  filth  and  mire,  the  calling  prophets  and 
apostles  by  the  most  scurrilous  names  was  new,  and  dash- 
ing, and  dazzling.     Mr.  Fantom,  now  being  set  free  from 


AND     HIS    MAN     WILLIAM.  247 

the  chains  of  slavery  and  superstition,  was  resolved  to  show 
his  zeal  in  themsual  way,  by  trying  to  free  others  ;  but  it 
would  have  hurt  his  vanity  had  he  known  that  he  was  the 
convert  of  a  man  who  had  written  only  for  the  vulgar,  who 
had  invented  nothing,  no,  uot  even  one  idea  of  original 
wickedness  ;  but  who  had  stooped  to  rake  up  out  of  the 
kennel  of  infidelity,  all  the  loathsome  dregs  and  offal  dirt, 
which  politer  unbelievers  had  thrown  away  as  too  gross 
and  offensive  for  the  better  bred  readers. 

Mr.  Fantom,  who  considered  that  a  philosopher  must  set 
up  with  a  little  sort  of  stock  in  trade,  now  picked  up  all 
the  common-place  notions  against  Christianity,  which  have 
been  answered  a  hundred  times  over:  these  he  kept  by 
him  ready  cut  and  dried,  and  brought  out  in  all  companies 
with  a  zeal  which  would  have  done  honor  to  a  better  cause, 
but  which  the  friends  to  a  better  cause  are  not  so  apt  to 
discover.  He  soon  got  all  the  cant  of  the  new  school.  He 
prated  about  narrowness,  and  ignorance,  and  bigotry,  and 
prejudice,  aud  priestcraft  on  the  one  hand ;  and  on  the 
other,  of  public  good,  the  love  of  mankind,  and  liberality, 
and  candor,  and  toleration,  and  above  all,  benevolence. 
Benevolence,  he  said,  made  up  the  whole  of  religion,  and 
all  the  other  parts  of  it  were  nothing  but  cant,  and  jargon, 
and  hypocrisy.  By  benevolence  he  understood  a  gloomy 
and  indefinite  anxiety  about  the  happiness  of  people  with 
whom  he  was  utterly  disconnected,  aud  whom  Providence 
had  put  it  out  of  his  reach  either  to  serve  or  injure.  And 
by  the  happiness  this  benevolence  was  so  anxious  to  pro- 
mote, he  meant  an  exemption  from  the  power  of  the  laws, 
and  an  emancipation  from  the  restraints  of  religion,  con- 
science, aud  moral  obligation. 

Finding,  however,  that  he  made  but  little  impression  on 
his  old  club  at  the  Cat  and  Bagpipes,  he  grew  tired  of  their 
company.     This  club  consisted  of  a  few  sober  citizens,  who 


248  THE     HISTORY     OF     MK.     FANTOM, 

met  of  an  evening  for  a  little  harmless  recreation  after  busi* 
ness ;  their  object  was,  not  to  reform  parliament,  but  their 
own  shops  ;  not  to  correct  the  abuses  of  government,  but 
of  parish  officers  ;  not  to  cure  the  excesses  of  administra- 
tion, but  of  their  own  porters  and  apprentices  ;  to  talk  over 
the  news  of  the  day  without  aspiring  to  direct  the  events 
of  it.  They  read  the  papers  with  that  anxiety  which  every 
honest  man  feels  in  the  daily  history  of  his  country.  But 
as  trade,  which  they  did  understand,  flourished,  they  were 
careful  not  to  reprobate  those  public  measures  by  which  it 
was  protected,  and  which  they  did  not  understand.  In  such 
turbulent  times  it  was  a  comfort  to  each  to  feel  he  was  a 
tradesman,  and  not  a  statesman ;  that  he  was  not  called  to 
responsibility  for  a  trust  for  which  he  found  he  had  no 
talents,  while  he  was  at  full  liberty  to  employ  the  talents  he 
really  possessed,  in  fairly  amassing  a  fortune,  of  which  the 
laws  would  be  the  best  guardian,  and  government  the  best 
security.  Thus  a  legitimate  self-love,  regulated  by  prudence, 
and  restrained  by  principle,  produced  peaceable  subjects 
and  good  citizens  ;  while  in  Fantora,  a  boundless  selfishness 
and  inordinate  vanity  converted  a  discontented  trader  into 
a  turbulent  politician. 

There  was,  however,  one  member  of  the  Cat  and  Bag- 
pipes whose  society  he  could  not  resolve  to  give  up,  though 
they  seldom  agreed,  as  indeed  do  two  men  in  the  same  class 
an 3  habits  ot  life  could  less  resemble  each  other.  Mr. 
Trueman  was  an  honest,  plain,  simple-hearted  tradesman  of 
the  good  old  cut,  wdio  feared  God  and  followed  his  business ; 
he  went  to  church  twice  on  Sundays,  and  minded  his  shop 
all  the  week,  spent  frugally,  gave  liberally,  and  saved  mod- 
erately. He  lost,  however,  some  ground  in  Mr.  Faatom's 
esteem,  because  he  paid  his  taxes  without  disputing,  and 
read  his  Bible  without  doubting. 

Mr.  Fantom  now  began  to  be  tired  of  every  thing  in 


AND     HIS     MAN     WILLIAM.  249 

trade  except  the  profits  of  it ;  for  the  more  the  word  benev- 
olence was  in  'his  mouth,  the  more  did  selfishness  gain 
dominion  in  his  heart.  He,  however,  resolved  to  retire  for 
a  while  into  the  country,  and  devote  his  time  to  his  new 
plans,  schemes,  theories,  and  projects  for  the  public  good. 
A  life  of  talking,  and  reading,  and  writing,  and  disputing, 
and  teaching,  and  proselyting,  now  struck  him  as  the  only 
life  ;  so  he  soon  set  out  for  the  country  with  his  family ; 
for  unhappily  Mr.  Fantom  had  been  the  husband  of  a  very 
worthy  woman  many  years  before  the  new  philosophy  had 
discovered  that  marriage  was  a  shameful  infringement  on 
human  liberty,  and  an  abridgement  of  the  rights  of  man. 
To  this  family  was  now  added  his  new  footman,  William 
Wilson,  whom  he  had  taken  with  a  good  character  out  of  a 
sober  family.  Mr.  Fantom  was  no  sooner  settled  than  he 
•  wrote  to  invite  Mr.  Trueman  to  come  and  pay  him  a  visit, 
for  he  would  have  burst  if  he  could  not  have  irot  some  one 
to  whom  he  might  display  his  new  knowlo  I"'e  ;  he  knew 
that  if  on  the  one  hand  Trueman  was  no  scholar,  yet  on 
the  other  he  was  no  fool;  and  though  he  despised  his  pre- 
judices, yet  he  thought  he  might  be  made  a  good  decoy 
duck ;  for  if  he  could  once  bring  Trueman  over,  the  whole 
club  at  the  Cat  and  Bagpipes  might  be  brought  to  follow 
his  example  \  and  thus  he  might  see  himself  at  the  head  of 
a  society  of  his  own  proselytes  ;  the  supreme  object  of  a 
philosopher's  ambition.  Trueman  came  accordingly.  He 
soon  found  that  however  he  might  be  shocked  at  the  im- 
pious  doctrines  his  friend  maintained,  yet  that  an  important 
lesson  might  be  learned  even  from  the  worst  enemies  of 
truth  ;  namely,  an  ever  wakeful  attention  to  their  grand 
object.  If  they  set  out  with  talking  of  trade  or  politics, 
of  private  news  or  public  affairs,  still  Mr.  Fantom  was  ever 
on  the  watch  to  hitch  in  his  darling  doctrines  ;  whatever 
he  began  wdth,  he  was  sure  to  end  with  a  pert  squib  at  the 

n* 


250  THE     HISTORY     OF    MR.     FANTOM, 

Bible,  a  vapid  jest  on  the  clergy,  the  miseries  of  superstition, 
and  the  blessings  of  philosophy.  "  Oh  !"  said  Trueman  to 
himself,  "  when  shall  I  see  Christians  halt'  so  much  in  earn- 
est ?  Why  is  it  that  almost  all  zeal  is  on  the  wrong  side  P 
"Well,  Mr.  Fantom,"  said  Trueman  one  day  at  breakfast, 
"  I  am  afraid  you  are  leading  but  an  idle  sort  of  life  here." 
"  Idle,  sir  I"  said  Fantom,  "  I  now  first  begin  to  live  to  some 
purpose ;  I  have  indeed  lost  too  much  time,  and  wasted 
my  talents  on  a  little  retail  trade,  in  which  one  is  of  no 
note  :  one  can't  distinguish  one's  self."  "  So  much  the 
better,"  said  Trueman  ;  "  I  had  rather  not  distinguish  my- 
self, unless  it  was  by  leading  a  better  life  than  my  neigh- 
bors. There  is  nothing  I  should  dread  more  than  being 
talked  about.  I  dare  say  now  heaven  is  in  a  good  measure 
filled  with  people  whose  names  were  never  heard  out  of 
their  own  street  and  village.  So  I  be^  leave  not  to  distin- 
guish  myself!"  "  Yes,  but  one  may,  if  it  is  only  by  sign- 
ing one's  name  to  an  essay  or  paragraph  in  a  newspaper," 
said  Fantom.  "  Heaven  keep  John  Trueman's  name  out  ot 
a  newspaper,"  interrupted  he  in  a  fright,  "for  if  it  be  there, 
it  must  either  be  found  in  the  Old  Bailey  or  the  bankrupt 
fist,  unless,  indeed,  I  were  to  remove  shop,  or  sell  off  my 
old  stock.  Well,  but  Mr.  Fantom,  you,  I  suppose,  are  now 
as  happy  as  the  day  is  long  ?"  "  Oh  yes,"  replied  Fantom, 
with  a  gloomy  sigh,  which  gave  the  lie  to  his  words,  "  per- 
fectly happy !  I  wonder  you  do  not  give  up  all  your  sordid 
employments,  and  turn  philosopher  !"  "  Sordid  indeed  !" 
said  Trueman,  "  do  not  call  names,  Mr.  Fantom  ;  I  shall 
never  be  ashamed  of  my  trade.  What  is  it  has  made  this 
country  so  great  ?  a  country  whose  merchants  are  princes  ? 
It  is  trade,  Mr.  Fantom,  trade.  I  can  not  say  indeed,  as 
well  as  I  love  business,  but  now  and  then,  when  I  am  over- 
worked, I  wish  I  had  a  little  more  time  to  look  after  my 
soul ;  but  the  fear  that  I  should  not  devote  the  time,  if  I 


AND     HIS     MAN     WILLIAM. 

had  it,  to  the  best  purpose,  makes  me  work  on,  though 
often,  when  I  am  balancing  my  accounts,  I  tremble,  lest  I 
should  neglect  to  balance  the  great  account.  But  still, 
since,  like  you,  I  am  a  man  of  no  education,  I  am  more 
afraid  of  the  temptations  of  leisure,  than  of  those  of  busi- 
ness ;  I  never  was  bred  to  read  more  than  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible,  or  some  other  good  book,  or  the  magazine  and  news- 
paper ;  and  all  that  I  can  do  now,  after  shop  is  shut,  is  to 
take  a  walk  with  my  children  in  the  field  besides.  But  if 
I  had  nothing  to  do  from  morning  to  night,  I  might  be  in 
danger  of  turning  politician  or  philosopher.  No,  neighbor 
Fan  torn,  depend  upon  it,  that  where  there  is  no  learning, 
next  to  God's  grace,  the  best  preservative  of  human  virtue 
is  business.  As  to  our  political  societies,  like  the  armies  in 
the  cave  of  Adullam,  'every  man  that  is  in  distress,  and 
every  man  that  is  in  debt,  and  every  man  that  is  discon- 
tented, will  always  join  themselves  unto  them.' ' 

Fantom.  You  have  narrow  views,  Trueman.  What  can 
be  more  delightful  than  to  see  a  paper  of  one's  own  in 
print  against  tyranny  and  superstition,  contrived  with  so 
much  ingenuity,  that,  though  the  law  is  on  the  look-out 
for  treason  and  blasphemy,  a  little  change  of  name  defeats 
its  scrutiny.  For  instance  ;  you  may  stigmatize  England 
under  the  name  of  Rome,  and  Christianity  under  the  name 
of  Popery.  The  true  way  is  to  attack  whatever  you  have 
a  mind  to  injure,  under  another  name,  and  the  best  means 
to  destroy  the  use  of  a  thing,  is  to  produce  a  few  incontro- 
vertible facts  against  the  abuses  it.  Our  late  travelers  have 
inconceivably  helped  on  the  cause  of  the  new  philosophy, 
in  their  ludicrous  narratives  of  credulity,  miracles,  indul- 
gences, and  processions,  in  popish  countries,  all  which  they 
ridi  'ule  under  the  broad  and  general  name  of  Religion, 
Christianity,  and  the  Church.  "And  are  not  you  ashamed 
to  defend  such   knavery  ?"  said  Mr.  Trueman.      "  Those 


252  THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.    FANTOM, 

who  have  a  great  object  to  accomplish,"  replied  Mr.  Fan- 
tom,  "  must  not  be  uice  about  tbe  means.  But  to  return 
to  yourself,  Trueman  ;  in  your  little  confined  situation  you 
can  be  of  no  use."  "  That  I  deny,"  interrupted  Trueman  ; 
"  I  have  filled  all  the  parish  offices  with  some  credit.  I 
never  took  a  bribe  at  an  election,  no  not  so  much  as  a  treat ; 
I  take  care  of  my  apprentices,  and  do  not  set  them  a  bad 
example  by  running  to  plays  and  Saddler's  Wells,  in  the 
week  or  jaunting  about  in  a  gig  all  day  on  Sundays ;  for  I 
look  upon  it  that  the  country  jaunt  of  the  master  on  Sun- 
days exposes  his  servants  to  more  danger  than  their  whole 
week's  temptation  in  trade  put  together." 

Fantom.  I  once  had  the  same  vulgar  prejudices  about 
the  church  and  the  Sabbath,  and  all  that  antiquated  stuff. 
But  even  on  your  own  narrow  principles,  how  can  a  think- 
ing being  spend  his  Sunday  better  (if  he  must  lose  one  day 
in  seven  by  having  any  Sunday  at  all)  than  by  going  into 
the  country  to  admire  the  works  of  nature. 

Trueman.  I  suppose  you  mean  the  works  of  God  :  for  I 
never  read  in  the  Bible  that  Nature  made  any  thing.  I 
should  rather  think  that  she  herself  was  made  by  Him, 
who,  when  He  said,  "  thou  shalt  not  murder,"  said  also, 
"  thou  shalt  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  day."  But  now 
do  you  really  think  that  all  the  multitude  of  coaches, 
chariots,  chaises,  vis-a-vis,  booby-hutches,  sulkies,  sociaoles, 
phaetons,  gigs,  curricles,  cabrioles,  chairs,  stages,  pleasure- 
carts,  and  horses,  which  crowd  our  roads  ;  all  those  country  ■ 
houses  within  reach,  to  which  the  London  friends  pour  in 
to  the  gorgeous  Sunday  feast,  which  the  servants  are  kept 
from  church  to  dress;  all  those  public  houses  under  the 
signs  of  which  you  read  these  alluring  words,  an  ordinary 
on  Sundays;  I  say,  do  you  really  believe  that  all  those 
houses  and  carriages  are  crammed  with  philosophers,  who 
go  on  Sunday  into  the  country  to  admire  the  works  of 


AND     HIS    MAN     WILLIAM.  253 

nature,  as  you  call  it !  Indeed,  from  tbe  reeling  gait  of 
some  of  them,  when  they  go  back  at  night,  one  might  take 
them  for  a  certain  sect  called  the  tippling  philosophers. 
Then  in  answer  to  your  charge,  that  a  li;tle  tradesman 
can  do  no  good,  it  is  not  true  ;  I  must  tell  you  that  I  be- 
long to  the  Sick  Man's  Friend,  and  to  the  Society  for  reliev- 
ing prisoners  for  small  debts. 

Fantom.  I  have  no  attention  to  spare  for  that  business, 
though  I  would  pledge  myself  to  produce  a  plan  by  which 
the  national  debt  might  be  paid  off  in  six  months  ;  but  all 
yours  are  petty  occupations. 

Trueman.  Then  they  are  better  suited  to  petty  men  of 
petty  fortune.  I  had  rather  have  an  ounce  of  real  good 
done  with  my  own  hands,  and  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  than 
speculate  about  doing  a  ton  in  a  wild  way,  which  I  know 
can  never  be  brought  about. 

Fantom.  I  despise  a  narrow  field.  Oh,  for  the  reign  of 
universal  benevolence  !  I  want  to  make  all  mankind  good 
and  happy. 

Trueman.  Dear  me  !  sure  that  must  be  a  wholesale  sort 
of  a  job  ;  had  you  not  better  try  your  hand  at  a  town  or  a 
parish  first ! 

Fantom.  Sir,  I  have  a  plan  in  my  head  for  relieving  the 
miseries  of  the  whole  world.  Every  thing  is  bad  as  it  now 
stands.  I  would  alter  all  the  laws  ;  and  do  away  all  the 
religions,  and  put  an  end  to  all  the  wars  in  the  world.  I 
would  every  where  redress  the  injustice  of  fortune,  or  what 
the  vulgar  call  Providence.  I  would  put  an  eud  to  all 
punishments;  I  would  not  leave  a  single  prisoner  on  the 
face  of  the  globe.  This  is  what  I  call  doing  things  on  a 
grand  Bcale.  "  A  scale  with  a  vengeance,''  said  Trueman. 
"As  to  releasing  the  prisoners,  however,  I  do  nol  so  much 
like  thai,  as  it.  would  be  liberating  a  tew  rogues  at  tie'  ex- 
pense of  all  honest  men  ;  but  as  to  the  rest  of  your  plans, 


254  THE     HISTORY    OF    MR.     FANTOM, 

if  all  Christian  countries  would  he  so  good  as  to  turn  Chris- 
tians, it  might  be  helped  on  a  good  deal.  There  would  be 
still  misery  enough  left  indeed ;  because  God  intended  this 
world  should  be  earth  and  not  heaven.  But,  sir,  among  all 
your  oblations,  you  must  abolish  human  corruption  before 
you  can  make  the  world  quite  as  perfect  as  you  pretend. 
You  philosophers  seem  to  me  to  be  ignorant  of  the  wry 
first  seed  and  principle  of  misery — sin,  sir,  sin  :  your  system 
of  reform  is  radically  defective  ;  for  it  does  not  comprehend 
that  sinful  nature  from  which  all  misery  proceeds.  You 
accuse  government  of  defects  which  belong  to  man,  to  indi- 
vidual man,  and  of  course  to  man  collectively.  Among  :ill 
your  reforms  you  must  reform  the  human  heart ;  you  are 
only  hacking  at  the  branches,  without  striking  at  the  root, 
Banishing  impiety  out  of  the  world,  would  be  like  striking 
off  all  the  pounds  from  an  overcharged  bill ;  and  all  the 
troubles  which  would  be  left,  would  be  reduced  to  mere 
shillings,  pence,  and  farthings,  as  one  may  say." 

Fantom.  Your  project  would  rivet  the  chains  which  mine 
is  designed  to  break. 

Trueman.  Sir,  I  have  no  projects.  Projects  are  in  gen- 
eral the  offspring  of  restlessness,  vanity,  and  idleness.  I 
am  too  busy  for  projects,  too  contented  for  theories,  and,  1 
hope,  have  too  much  honesty  and  humility  for  a  philos- 
opher. The  utmost  extent  of  my  ambition  at  present  is,  to 
redress  the  wrongs  of  a  parish  apprentice  who  has  been 
cruelly  used  by  his  master;  indeed  I  have  another  little 
scheme,  which  is  to  prosecute  a  fellow  in  our  street  who  has 
Mill  red  a  poor  wretch  in  a  workhouse,  of  which  he  had  the 
care,  to  perish  through  neglect,  and  you  must  assist  me. 

Fantom.  The  parish  must  <lo  that.  You  must  nol  apply 
to  me  for  the  redress  of  such  petty  grievances.  I  own  that 
the  wrongs  of  the  Pules  and  South  Americans  so  fill  my 
mind  as  to  leave  me  no  time  to  attend  to  the  petty  sorrows 


AND     HIS     MAN     WILLIAM.  250 

of  workhouses  and  parish  apprentices.  It  is  provinces,  em- 
pires, continents,  that  the  benevolence  of  the  philosopher 
embraces  ;  every  one  can  do  a  little  paltry  good  to  his  next 
neighbor. 

Trueman.  Every  one  can,  but  I  do  not  see  that  every  one 
does.  If  they  would,  indeed,  your  business  would  be  ready 
done  at  your  hands,  and  your  grand  ocean  of  benevolence 
would  be  filled  with  the  drops  which  private  charity  would 
throw  into  it.  I  am  glad,  however,  you  are  such  a  friend 
to  the  prisoners,  because  I  am  just  now  getting  a  little  sub- 
scription from  our  club,  to  set  free  our  poor  old  friend,  Tom 
Saunders,  a  very  honest  brother  tradesman,  who  got  first 
into  debt,  and  then  into  jail,  through  no  fault  of  his  own, 
but  merely  through  the  pressure  of  the  times.  We  have 
each  of  us  allowed  a  trifle  every  week  toward  maintaining 
Tom's  young  family  since  he  has  been  in  piison  ;  but  we 
think  we  shall  do  much  more  service  to  Saunders,  and,  in- 
deed, in  the  end,  lighten  our  expense,  by  paying  down  at 
once  a  little  sum  to  restore  him  to  the  comforts  of  life,  and 
put  him  in  the  way  of  maintaining  his  family  again.  We 
have  made  up  the  money  all  except  five  guineas  5  1  am  al- 
ready  promised  four,  and  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  give 
me  the  fifth.  And  so  for  a  single  guinea,  without  any  of 
the  trouble,  the  meetings,  and  the  looking  into  his  affairs, 
which  we  have  had  ;  which,  let  me  tell  you,  is  the  best,  and 
to  a  man  of  business,  the  dearest  part  of  charity,  you  will 
at  once  have  the  pleasure  (and  it  Is  no  small  one)  of  help- 
ing to  save  a  worthy  family  from  starving,  of  redeeming  an 
old  friend  from  jail,  and  of  putting  a  little  of  your  boasted 
bm.evolenee  into  action.  Realize  !  Master  Fantom — there  is 
in  thing  like  realizing.  "  Why,  hark  ye,  Mr.  Trueman,"  said 
I  atom, stammering, aDd  lookingvery  black  ;  "do  Dot  think 
I  value  a  guinea ;  no,  sir,  I  despise  money  ;  is  is  trash  ;  it  is 
dirt,  and  beneath  the  regard  of  a  wise  man.     It  is  one  <>( 


256  THE    HISTORY     OF     MR.     FANTOM, 

the  unfeeling  inventions  of  artificial  society.  Sir,  I  could 
talk  to  you  for  half  a  clay  on  the  abuse  of  riches,  and  on 
my  own  contempt  for  money." 

Trueman.  0,  pray  do  not  give  yourself  the  trouble  ;  it 
will  be  an  easier  way  by  half  of  vindicating  yourself  from 
one,  and  of  proving  the  other,  just  to  put  your  hand  in  your 
pocket  and  give  me  a  guinea,  without  saying  a  word  about 
it ;  and  then  to  you,  who  value  time  so  much,  and  money 
so  little,  it  will  cut  the  matter  short.  But  come  now  (for  I 
see  you  will  give  nothing),  I  should  be  mighty  glad  to  know 
what  is  the  sort  of  good  you  do  yourself,  since  you  always 
object  to  what  is  done  by  others  ?  "  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Fan- 
torn  ;  "  the  object  of  a  true  philosopher  is  to  diffuse  light 
and  knowledge.  I  wish  to  see  the  whole  world  enlight- 
ened." 

Trueman.  Amen !  if  you  mean  with  the  light  of  the 
gospel.  But  if  you  mean  that  one  religion  is  as  good  as 
another,  and  that  no  religion  is  best  of  all ;  and  that  we 
shall  become  wiser  and  better  by  setting  aside  the  very 
means  which  Providence  bestowTed  to  make  us  wise  and 
good ;  in  short,  if  you  want  to  make  the  whole  world 
philosophers,  why  they  had  better  stay  as  they  are.  But 
as  to  the  true  light,  I  wish  to  reach  the  very  lowest,  and  I 
therefore  bless  God  for  charity-schools,  as  instruments  of 
diffusing  it  among  the  poor. 

Fantom,  who  had  no  reason  to  suspect  that  his  friend 
was  going  to  call  upon  him  for  a  subscription  on  this  ac- 
count, ventured  to  praise  them,  saying,  "  I  am  no  enemy  to 
these  institutions.  I  would,  indeed,  change  the  object  of 
instruction,  but  I  would  have  the  whole  world  instructed." 

Here  Mrs.  Fantom,  who,  with  her  daughter,  had  quietly 
sat  by  at  their  work,  ventured  to  put  in  a  word,  a  liberty 
she  seldom  took  with  her  husband,  who,  in  his  zeal  to  make 
the  whole  world  free  and  happy,  was  too  prudent  to  include 


AND     HIS     MAN    WILLIAM.  257 

his  wife  among-  the  objects  on  whom  he  wished  to  confer 
freedom  and  happiness.  "  Then,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "  I 
wonder  you  do  not  let  your  own  servants  be  taught  a  little. 
The  maids  can  scarcely  tell  a  letter,  or  say  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
and  you  know  you  will  not  allow  them  time  to  learn.  Wil- 
liam, too,  has  never  been  at  church  since  we  came  out  of 
town.  He  was  at  first  very  orderly  and  obedient,  but  now 
he  is  seldom  sober  of  an  evening ;  and  in  the  morning, 
when  he  should  be  rubbing  the  tables  in  the  parlor,  he  is 
generally  lolling  upon  them,  and  reading  your  little  manual 
of  the  new  philosophy."  "  Mrs.  Fantom,"  said  her  husband, 
angrily,  "  you  know  that  my  labors  for  the  public  good 
leave  me  little  time  to  think  of  my  own  fami  y.  I  must 
have  a  great  field  ;  I  like  to  do  good  to  hundreds  at  once." 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that,  papa,"  said  Miss  Polly  ;  "  for 
then  I  hope  you  will  not  refuse  to  subscribe  to  all  those 
pretty  children  at  the  Sunday  Scdiool,  as  you  did  yesterday, 
when  the  gentlemen  came  a  begging,  because  that  is  the 
very  thing  you  were  wishing  for  ;  there  are  two  or  three 
hundred  to  be  done  good  at  once." 

Trueman.  Well,  Mr.  Fantom,  you  are  a  wonderful  man 
to  keep  up  such  a  stock  of  benevolence  at  so  small  an  ex- 
pense. To  love  mankind  so  dearly,  and  yet  avoid  all  op- 
portunities of  doing  them  good  ;  to  have  such  a  noble  zeal 
for  the  millions,  and  to  feel  so  little  compassion  for  the 
units  ;  to  lon^  to  free  empires  and  enlighten  kingdoms  ;  and 
yet  deny  instruction  to  your  own  village,  and  comfort  to 
your  own  family.  Surely  none  hut  a  philosopher  could  in- 
dulge so  much  philanthropy  and  so  much  frugality  at  the, 
same  time.  But  come,  do  assist  me  in  a  partition  I  am 
making  in  our  poor-house ;  between  the  old,  whom  I  want 
to  have  better  fed,  and  the  young,  whom  I  want  to  have 
more  worked.- 

Fantom.  Sir,  my  mind  is  so  engrossed  with  the  partition 


258  THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     FANTOM, 

of  Poland,  that  I  can  not  bring  it  down  to  an  object  of 
such  insignificance.  I  despise  the  man  whose  benevolence 
is  swallowed  up  in  the  narrow  concerns  of  his  own  family, 
or  parish,  or  country. 

Trueman.  Well,  now  I  have  a  notion  that  it  is  as  well 
to  do  one's  own  duty  as  the  duty  of  another  man  ;  and 
tliat  to  do  good' at  home  is  as  well  as  to  do  good  abroad. 
For  my  part,  I  had  as  lieve  help  Tom  Saunders  to  freedom 
as  a  Pole  or  a  South  American,  though  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  help  them  too.  But  one  must  begin  to  love  some- 
where ;  and  to  do  good  somewhere  ;  and  I  think  it  is  as 
natural  to  love  one's  own  family,  and  to  do  good  in  one's 
own  neighborhood,  as  to  any  body  else.  And  if  every  man 
in  every  family,  parish,  and  country,  did  the  same,  why 
then  all  ihe  schemes  would  meet,  and  the  end  of  one  parish, 
where  I  was  doing  good,  would  be  the  beginning  of  an- 
other parish  where  somebody  else  was  doing  good  ;  so  my 
schemes  would  jut  into  my  neighbor's;  his  projects  would 
unite  with  those  of  some  other  local  reformer  ;  and  all  would 
fit  with  a  sort  of  dove-tail  exactness.  And  what  is  better, 
all  would  join  in  forming  a  living  comment  on  that  practical 
precept;  "Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy 
heart,  and  thy  neighbor  as  thyself." 

Fantom.  Sir,  a  man  of  large  views  will  be  on  the  watch 
for  great  occasions  to  prove  his  benevolence. 

Trueman.  Yes,  sir  ;  but  if  they  are  so  distant  that  he  can 
not  reach  them,  or  so  vast  that  he  can  not  grasp  them,  he 
may  let  a  thousand  little,  snug,  kind,  good  actions  slip 
through  his  fingers  in  the  meanwhile  ;  and  so  between  the 
great  things  that  he  can  not  do,  and  the  little  ones  that  he 
will  not  do,  life  passes  and  nothing  will  be  done. 

Ju6t  at  this  moment  Miss  Polly  Fantom  (whose  mother 
had  gone  out  some  time  before)  started  up,  let  fall  her 
work,  and  cried  out,  "  O,  papa,  do  but  look  what  a  mon- 


AND     HIS     MAN     WILLIAM.  259 

strous  great  fire  there  is  yonder  on  the  common  !  If  it  were 
the  fifth  of  November  I  should  think  it  were  a  bonfire. 
Look  how  it  blazes."  "  I  see  plain  enough  what  it  is," 
said  Mr.  Fantom,  sitting-  down  as;ain  without  the  least  emo- 
tion.  "  It  is  Jenkins's  cottage  on  fire."  "  What,  poor  John 
Jenkins,  who  works  in  our  garden,  papa  ?"  said  the  poor 
girl,  in  great  terror.  "  Do  not  be  frightened,  child,"  an- 
swered Fantom  ;  "  we  are  safe  enough  ;  the  wind  blows  the 
other  way.  Why  did  you  disturb  us  for  such  a  trifle,  as  it 
was  ho  distant  ?  Come,  Mr.  Trueman,  sit  down."  "  Sit 
down  !"  said  Mr.  Trueman  ;  "  I  am  not  a  stock,  nor  a  stone, 
but  a  man,  made  of  the  same  common  nature  with  Jenkins, 
whose  house  is  burning.  Come  along — let  us  fly  and  help 
him,"  continued  he,  running  to  the  door  in  such  haste  that 
he  forgot  to  take  his  hat,  though  it  hung  just  before  him. 
"  Come,  Mr.  Fantom — come,  my  little  dear  ;  I  wish  your 
mamma  was  here  ;  I  am  sorry  she  went  out  just  now ;  we 
may  ail  do  some  good  ;  every  body  may  be  of  some  use  at 
a  fire.  Even  you,  Miss  Polly,  may  save  some  of  these  poor 
people's  things  in  your  apron,  while  your  papa  and  I  hand 
the  buckets."  All  this  he  said  as  he  ran  along  with  the 
young  lady  in  his  hand,  not  doubting  but  Fantom  and  his 
whole  family  were  following  close  behind  him.  But  the 
present  distress  was  neither  grand  enough  nor  far  enough 
from  home  to  satisfy  the  wide-stretched  benevolence  of  the 
philosopher,  who  sat  down  within  sight  of  the  flames  to 
work  at  a  new  pamphlet,  which  now  swallowed  up  his 
whole  soul,  on  Universal  Benevolence. 

His  daughter,  indeed,  who  happily  was  not  yet  a  philos- 
opher, with  Mr.  Trueman,  followed  by  the  maids,  reached 
the  scene  of  distress.  William  Wilson,  the  footman,  re- 
fused to  assist,  glad  of  such  an  opportunity  of  being  re- 
venged on  Jenkins,  whom  he  called  a  surly  fellow,  for  pre- 
suming to  complain  because  William  always  purloined  the 


260  THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     FANTOM, 

best  fruit  for  himself  before  he  set  it  on  his  master's  table.' 
Jenkins,  also,  whose  duty  it  was  to  be  out  of  doors,  had  re- 
fused to  l<jave  his  own  work  in  the  garden  to  do  Will's  work 
in  the  house  while  he  got  drunk,  or  read  the  Rights  of  Man. 

The  little  dwelling  of  Jenkins  burned  very  furiously. 
Mr.  Trueman's  exertions  were  of  the  greatest  service.  He 
directed  the  willing,  and  gave  an  example  to  the  slotliful. 
By  living  in  London,  he  had  been  more  used  to  the  calam- 
ity of  fire  than  the  country  people,  and  knew  better  what 
was  to  be  done.  In  the  midst  of  the  bustle  he  saw  one 
woman  only  who  never  attempted'  to  be  of  the  least  use. 
She  ran  backward  and  forward,  wringing  her  hands,  and 
crying  out  in  a  tone  of  piercing  agony,  "  Oh,  my  child  ! 
my  little  Tommy  !  will  no  one  save  my  Tommy  ?"  Any 
woman  might  have  uttered  the  same  words,  but  the  look 
which  explained  them  could  only  come  from  a  mother. 
Trueman  did  not  stay  to  ask  if  she  were  owner  of  the  house, 
and  mother  of  the  child.  It  was  his  way  to  do  all  the  good 
that  could  be  done  first,  and  then  to  ask  questions.  All  he 
said  was,  "  Tell  me  which  is  the  room  ?"  The  poor  woman 
now  speechless  through  terror,  could  only  point  up  to  a 
little  window  in  the  thatch,  and  then  sunk  on  the  ground. 

Mr.  Trueman  made  his  way  through  a  thick  smoke,  and 
ran  up  the  narrow  staircase  which  the  fire  had  not  reached. 
He  got  safely  to  the  loft,  snatched  up  the  little  creature, 
who  was  sweetly  sleeping  in  its  poor  hammock,  and  brought 
him  down  naked  in  his  arms:  and  as  he  gave  him  to  the 
half-distracted  mother,  he  felt  that  her  joy  and  gratitude 
would  have  been  no  bad  pay  for  the  danger  he  had  run, 
even  if  no  higher  motive  had  set  him  to  work.  Poor  Jen- 
kibs,  half  stupefied  by  his  misfortune,  had  never  thought  of 
his  child  ;  and  his  wife,  who  expected  every  hour  to  make 
him  father  to  a  second,  had  not  been  able  to  do  any  thing 
toward  saving  little  Tommy. 


AND     HIS     MAN     WILLIAM.  261 

Mr.  Trueman  now  put  the  child  into  Miss  Fantom's  apron, 
saying,  "  Did  uof  I  tell  you,  my  dear,  that  every  body  could 
be  of  use  at  a  fire?"  He  then  desired  her  to  carry  the 
child  home,  and  ordered  the  poor  woman  to  follow  her; 
saying,  he  would  return  himself  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  all 
safe  in  the  cottage. 

When  the  fire  was  quite  out,  and  Mr.  Trueman  could  be 
of  no  further  use,  he  went  back  to  Mr.  Fantom's.  The 
instant  he  opened  the  parlor  door  he  eagerly  cried  out, 
"  "Where  is  the  poor  woman,  Mr.  Fantom  ?"  "  Not  in  my 
house,  I  assure  you,"  answered  the  philosopher.  "  Give  me 
leave  to  tell  you,  it  was  a  very  romantic  thing  to  send  her 
and  her  child  to  me  ;  you  should  have  provided  for  them  at 
once,  like  a  prudent  man."  "I  thought  I  had  done  so," 
replied  Trueman,  "  by  sending  them  to  the  nearest  and  best 
house  in  the  parish,  as  the  poor  woman  seemed  to  stand  in 
need  of  immediate  assistance."  "  So  immediate,"  said  Fan- 
torn,  "  that  I  would  not  let  her  come  into  my  house,  for 
fear  of  what  might  happen.  So  I  packed  her  off,  with  her 
I'hild  in  her  arms,  to  the  workhouse ;  with  orders  to  the 
overseers  not  to  let  her  want  for  any  thing." 

"  And  what  right  have  you,  Mr.  Fantom,"  cried  Trueman 
in  a  high  tone,  "  to  expect  that  the  overseers  will  be  more 
humane  than  yourself!  But  is  it  possible  you  can  have  sent 
that  helpless  creature,  not  only  to  walk,  but  to  carry  a  naked 
child  at  such  a  time  of  night,  to  a  place  so  distant,  so  ill 
provided,  and  in  such  a  condition  ?  I  hope  at  least  you 
have  furnished  them  with  clothes;  for  all  their  own  little 
stores  were  burnt."  "  Not  I,  indeed  ;"  said  Fantom.  "  What 
is  the  use  of  parish  officers,  but  to  look  after  these  petty 
things?" 

It  was  Mr.  Tnieman's  way,  when  he  began  to  feel  v  ry 
angry,  not  to  allow  himself  to  speak,  "because,"  he  used  to 
say,  "if  I  give  vent  to  my  feelings,  I  am  sure,  by  some 


262  THE     HISTORY    OF    MB.     FANTOM, 

hasty  word,  to  cut  myself  out  work  for  repentance."  So 
without  making  any  answer,  or  even  changing  his  clothes, 
which  were  very  wet  and  dirty  from  having  worked  so  hard 
at  the  fire,  he  walked  out  again,  having  first  inquired  the 
road  the  woman  had  taken.  At  the  door  he  met  Mrs.  Fan- 
torn  returning  from  her  visit.  He  told  her  his  tale  :  which 
she  had  no  sooner  heard,  than  she  kindly  resolved  to  ac- 
company him  in  search  of  Jenkins's  wife.  She  had  a  wide 
common  to  walk  over  before  she  could  reach  either  the 
workhouse  or  the  nearest  cottage.  She  had  crawled  along 
with  her  baby  as  far  as  she  was  able  ;  but  having  met  with 
no  refreshment  at  Mr.  Fantom's,  and  her  strength  quite 
failing  her,  she  had  sunk  down  on  the  middle  of  the  com- 
mon. Happily,  Mr.  Trueman  and  Mrs.  Fantom  came  up 
at  this  very  time.  The  former  had  had  the  precaution  to 
bring  a  cordial,  and  the  latter  had  gone  back  and  stuffed 
her  pockets  with  old  baby  linen.  Mr.  Trueman  soon  pro- 
cured the  assistance  of  a  laborer,  who  happened  to  pass  by, 
to  help  him  to  carry  the  mother,  and  Mrs.  Fantom  carried 
the  little  shivering  baby. 

As  soon  as  they  were  safely  lodged,  Mr.  Trueman  set  off 
in  search  of  poor  Jenkins,  who  was  distressed  to  know  what 
was  become  of  his  wife  and  child ;  for  having  heard  that 
they  were  seen  going  toward  Mr.  Fantom's,  he  despaired  of 
any  assistance  from  that  quarter.  Mr.  Trueman  felt  no 
small  satisfaction  in  uniting  this  poor  man  to  his  little 
family.  There  was  something  very  moving  in  this  meeting, 
and  in  the  pious  gratitude  they  expressed  for  their  deliver- 
ance. They  seemed  to  forget  they  had  lost  their  all,  in  the 
joy  they  felt  that  they  had  not  lost  each  other.  And  some 
disdainful  great  ones  might  have  smiled  to  see  so  much 
rapture  expressed  at  the  safety  of  a  child  born  to  no  inher- 
itance but  poverty.  These  are  among  the  feelings  with 
which  Providence  sometimes  overpays  the  want  of  wealth. 


AND     HIS     MAN     WILLIAM.  263 

The  good  people  also  poured  out  prayers  and  blessings  on 
their  deliverer,  who,  not  being  a  philosopher,  was  no  more 
ashamed  of  praying  with  them  than  he  had  been  of  work- 
ing for  them.  Mr.  Trueman,  while  assisting  at  the  fire,  had 
heard  that  Jenkins  and  his  wife  were  both  very  honest,  and 
very  pious  people ;  so  he  told  them  he  would  not  only  pay 
for  their  new  lodmno-s,  but  undertook  to  raise  a  little  sub- 
scription  among  his  friends  at  the  Cat  and  Bagpipes  toward 
rebuilding  their  cottage ;  and  further  engaged  that  if  they 
would  promise  to  bring  up  the  child  in  the  fear  of  God,  he 
would  stand  godfather. 

This  exercise  of  Christian  charity  had  given  such  a  cheer- 
ful flow  to  Mr.  Trueman's  spirits,  that  long  before  he  got 
home  he  had  lost  every  trace  of  ill-humor.  "Well,  Mr. 
Fantom,"  said  he  gayly,  as  he  opened  the  door,  "  now  do 
tell  me  how  you  could  possibly  refuse  going  to  help  me  to 
put  out  the  fire  at  poor  Jenkins's  ?"  "  Because,"  said  Fan- 
torn,  "  I  was  engaged,  sir,  in  a  far  nobler  project  than  put- 
ting out  a  fire  in  a  little  thatched  cottage.  Sir,  I  was  con- 
triving to  put  out  a  fire  too ;  a  conflagration  of  a  far  more 
dreadful  kind — a  fire,  sir,  in  the  extinction  of  which  uni- 
versal man  is  concerned — I  was  contriving  a  scheme  to  ex- 
tinguish the  fires  of  the  Inquisition."  "  Why,  man,  they 
don't  blaze  that  I  know  of,"  retorted  Trueman.  "  I  own, 
that  of  all  the  abominable  engines  which  the  devil  ever  in- 
vented to  disgrace  religion  and  plague  mankind,  that  In- 
quisition was  the  very  worst.  But  I  do  not  believe  popery 
has  ventured  at  these  diabolical  tricks  since  the  earthquake 
at"  Lisbon,  so  that  a  bucket  of  real  water,  carried  to  the  real 
fire  at  Jenkins's  cottage,  would  have  done  more  good  than 
a  wild  plan  to  put  out  an  imaginary  flame  which  no  longer 
burns.  And  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  dreadful  as  that  evil  was, 
God  can  send  his  judgments  on  other  sins  besides  supersti- 
tion ;  so  it  behoves  us  to  take  heed  of  the  other  extreme 


264  THE    HISTORY     OF     MR.     FANTOM, 

or  we  may  have  our  earthquakes  too."  "  The  hand  of  God 
is  not  shortened,  sir,  that  it  can  not  destroy,  any  more  than 
it  can  not  save.  In  the  meantime,  I  must  repeat  it ;  you 
and  I  are  rather  called  upon  to  serve  a  neighbor  from 
perishing  in  the  flames  of  his  house,  just  under  our  own 
window,  than  to  write  about  the  fires  of  the  Inquisition; 
which,  if  fear,  or  shame,  or  the  restoration  of  common 
sense  had  not  already  put  out,  would  have  hardly  received 
a  cheek  from  such  poor  hands  as  you  and  I." 

"Sir,"  said  Fantom,  "Jenkins  is  an  impertinent  fellow; 
and  I  owe  him  a  grudge,  because  he  says  he  had  rather  for- 
feit the  favor  of  the  best  master  in  England  than  work  in 
my  garden  on  a  Sunday.  And  when  I  ordered  him  to  read 
the  Age  of  Reason,  instead  of  going  to  church,  he  refused 
to  work  for  me  at  all,  with  some  impertinent  hint  about 
God  and  Mammon." 

"  Oh,  did  he  so  ?"  said  Mr.  Trueman.  "  Now  I  will  stand 
godfather  to  his  child,  and  made  him  a  handsome  present 
into  the  bargain.  Indeed,  Mr.  Fantom,  a  man  must  be  a 
philosopher  with  a  vengeance,  if  when  he  sees  a  house  on 
fire,  he  stays  to  consider  whether  the  owner  has  offended 
him.  Oh,  Mr.  Fantom,  I  will  forgive  you  still,  if  you  will 
produce  me,  out  of  all  your  philosophy,  such  a  sentence  as 
'  Love  your  enemy — do  good  to  them  that  hate  you — if 
thine  enemy  hunger,  feed  him ;  if  he  thirst,  give  him 
drink ;'  I  will  give  up  the  blessed  gospel  for  the  Age  of 
Reason,  if  you  will  only  bring  me  one  sentinent  equivalent 
to  this." 

Next  day  Mr.  Trueman  was  obliged  to  go  to  London  on 
business,  but  returned  soon,  as  the  time  he  had  allotted  to 
spend  with  Mr.  Fantom  was  not  yet  elapsed.  He  came 
down  the  sooner  indeed,  that  he  might  bring  a  small  sum 
of  money  which  the  gentlemen  at  the  Cat  aud  Bagpipes  had 
cheerfully  subscribed  for  Jenkins.     Trueman  did  not  forget 


AND     HIS     MAN     "WILLIAM.  2Go 

to  desire  his  wife  to  make  up  also  a  quantity  of  clothing  for 
this  poor  family,  to  which  he  did  not  neglect  to  add  a 
parcel  of  good  books,  which,  indeed,  always  made  a  part  of 
his  charities ;  as  he  used  to  say,  there  was  something  cruel 
in  the  kindness  which  was  anxious  to  relieve  the  bodies  of 
men,  but  was  negligent  of  their  souls.  He  stood  in  person 
to  the  new-born  child,  and  observed  -with  much  pleasure, 
that  Jenkins  and  his  wife  thought  a  christening,  not  a  season 
for  merry-making,  but  a  solemn  act  of  religion.  And  they 
dedicated  their  infant  to  his  Maker  with  becoming  serious- 
ness. 

Trueman  left  the  cottage  and  got  back  to  Mr.  Fantom's, 
jusl  as  the  family  were  going  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  as  he 
had  promised. 

When  they  sat  down,  Mr.  Fantom  was  not  a  little  out  of 
humor  to  see  his  table  in  some  disorder.  William  was  also 
rather  more  negligent  than  usual.  If  the  company  called 
for  bread,  he  gave  them  beer,  and  he  took  away  the  clean 
plates,  and  gave  them  dirty  ones.  Mr.  Fantom  soon  dis- 
covered that  his  servant  was  very  drunk;  he  flew  into  a 
violent  passion,  and  ordered  him  out  of  the  mom,  charging 
thai  he  sliouM  nut  appear  in  his  presence  in  that  condition. 
William  obeyed  ;  hut  having  siepi  an  hour  or  two,  and  got 
about  half  sober,  he  again  made  his  appearance.  His  mas- 
ter gave  him  a  most  severe  reprimand,  and  called  him  an 
idle,  drunken,  vicious  fellow.  "  Sir,"  said  William,  very 
pertly,  "if  I  do  get  drunk  now  and  then,  I  only  do  it  for 
the  good  of  my  country,  and  in  obedience  to  your  wishes." 
Mr.  Fantom,  thoroughly  provoked,  now  began  to  scold  him 
in  words  not  fit  to  be  repeated;  and  asked  him  what  he 
meant.  "  Why,  sir,"  said  William,  "you  an-  a  philosopher 
you  know;  and  1  have  often  overheard  you  say  to  your 
company,  that  private  vices  are  public  benefits;  and  so  I 
thought  that  getting  drunk  was  as  pleasant  a  way  of  doing 

12 


266  THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     FAN  TOM, 

good  to  the  public  as  any,  especially  when  1  could  oblige 
my  master  at  the  same  time." 

"  Get  out  of  my  house,"  said  Mr.  Fantom,  in  a  great  rage. 
"  I  do  not  desire  to  stay  a  moment  longer,"  said  William, 
"  so  pay  me  my  wages."  "  Not  I,  indeed,"  replied  the 
master  ;  "  nor  will  I  give  you  a  character  ;  so  never  let  me 
see  your  face  again."  William  took  his  master  at  his  word, 
and  not  only  got  out  of  the  house,  but  went  out  of  the  coun- 
try too  as  fast  as  possible.  When  they  found  he  was  really 
gone,  they  made  a  hue-and-cry,  in  order  to  detain  him  till 
they  examined  if  he  had  left  every  thing  in  the  house  as  he 
had  found  it.  But  William  had  got  out  of  reach,  knowing 
he  could  not  stand  such  a  scrutiny.  On  examination,  Mr. 
Fantom  found  that  all  his  old  port  was  gone,  and  Mrs.  Fan- 
tom missed  three  of  her  best  new  spoons.  William  was 
pursued,  but  without  success ;  and  Mr.  Fantom  was  so 
much  discomposed  that  he  could  not  for  the  rest  of  the  day 
talk  on  any  subject  but  his  wine  and  his  spoons,  nor  ha- 
rangue on  any  project  but  that  of  recovering  both  by  bring- 
ing William  to  justice. 

Some  days  passed  away,  in  which  Mr.  Fantom,  having 
had  time  to  cool,  began  to  be  ashamed  that  he  had  been 
betrayed  into  such  ungoverned  passion.  He  made  the  best 
excuse  he  could  ;  said  no  man  was  perfect,  and  though  he 
owned  he  had  been  too  violent,  yet  still  he  hoped  William 
would  be  brought  to  the  punishment  he  deserved.  "  In 
the  meantime,"  said  Trueman,  "seeing  how  ill  philosophy 
has  agreed  with  your  man,  suppose  you  were  to  set  about 
teaching  your  maids  a  little  religion?"  Mr.  Fantom  coolly 
replied,  "  that  the  impertinent  retort  of  a  drunken  footman 
could  not  spoil  a  system."  "Your  system,  however,  and 
your  own  behavior,"  said  Trueman,  "  have  made  that  foot- 
man a  scoundrel,  and  you  arc  answerable  for  his  offenses," 
"  Not  I,  truly,"  said  Fantom ;    "  he  has  seen  me  do  no 


AND     HIS     MAN    WILLIAM.  267 

harm ;  he  has  neither  seen  me  cheat,  gamble,  nor  get 
drunk ;  and  I  defy  you  to  say  I  corrupt  my  servants.  I  am 
a  moral  man,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Fantom,"  said  Trueman,  "  if  you  were  to  get  drunk 
every  day,  and  game  every  night,  you  would,  indeed,  en- 
danger your  own  soul,  and  give  a  dreadful  example  to  your 
family  ;  but  great  as  those  sins  are,  and  God  forbid  that  I 
should  attempt  to  lessen  them !  still  they  are  not  worse, 
nay,  they  are  not  so  bad,  as  the  pestilent  'doctrines  with 
which  you  infect  your  house  and  your  neighborhood.  A 
bad  action  is  like  a  single  murder.  The  consequence  may 
end  with  the  crime,  to  all  but  the  perpetrator ;  but  a  wicked 
principle  is  throwing  lighted  gunpowder  into  a  town  ;  it  is 
poisoning  a  river;  there  are  no  bounds,  no  certainty,  no 
ends  to  its  mischief.  The  ill  effects  of  the  worst  action  may 
cease  in  time,  and  the  consequences  of  your  bad  example 
may  end  with  your  life ;  but  souls  may  be  brought  to  per- 
dition  by  a  wicked  principle  after  the  author  of  it  has  been 
dead  for  aws." 

Fantom.  You  talk  like  an  ignoramus  who  has  never  read 
the  new  philosophy.  All  this  nonsense  of  future  punish- 
ment is  now  done  away.  It  is  our  benevolence  which 
makes  us  rejecl  pour  creed  ;  we  can  no  more  believe  in  a 
Deity  who  permits  so  much  evil  in  the  present  world,  than 
one  who  threatens  eternal  punishment  in  the  next. 

Trueman.  What !  shall  mortal  man  be  more  merciful 
than  God  ?  Do  you  pretend  to  be  more  compassionate 
than  that  gracious  Father  who  sent  his  own  Son  into  the 
world  to  die  for  sinners  ? 

Fantom.  You  take  all  your  notions  of  the  Deity  from  the 
vulgar  views  your  Bible  gives  you  of  him.  "To  be  sure  I 
do,"  said  Trueman.  "  Can  you  tell  me  any  way  of  getting 
a  better  notion  of  him?  I  do  not  waul  any  of  your  far- 
thing-candle philosophy  in  the  broad  sunshine  of  the  gos- 


268  THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     FANTOM, 

pel,  Mr.  Fantom.  My  Bible  tells  me  that  '  God  is  love ;' 
not  merely  loving,  but  love.  Now,  do  you  think  a  Being, 
e  very  essence  is  love,  would  permit  any  misery  among 
his  children  here,  if  it  was  not  to  be,  some  way  or  other,  or 
sonic  where  or  other,  for  their  good  ?  You  forget,  too,  that 
in  a  world  where  there  is  sin,  there  must  be  misery.  Then, 
too,  I  suppose,  God  permits  this  very  misery,  partly  to  ex- 
ercise the  sufferers,  and  partly  to  try  the  prosperous  ;  for  by 
trouble  God  corrects  some  and  tries  others.  Suppose,  now, 
Tom  Saunders  had  not  been  put  in  prison,  you  and  I — no, 
I  beg  pardon,  you  saved  your  guinea ;  well,  then,  our  club 
and  I  could  not  have  shown  our  kindness  in  getting  him 
out ;  nor  would  poor  Saunders  himself  have  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  exercising  his  own  patience  and  submission  under 
waut  and  imprisonment.  So  you  see  one  reason  why  God 
permits  misery  is,  that  good  men  may  have  an  opportunity 
of  lessening  it."  Mr.  Fantom  replied,  "  There  is  no  object 
which  I  have  more  at  heart ;  I  have,  as  I  told  you,  a  plan 
in  my  head  of  such  universal  benevolence  as  to  include  the 
happiness  of  all  mankind."  "  Mr.  Fantom,"  said  Trueman, 
"  I  feel  that  I  have  a  general  good  will  to  all  my  brethren 
of  mankind  ;  and  if  I  had  as  much  money  iu  my  purse  as 
love  in  my  heart,  I  trust  I  should  prove  it.  All  I  say  is, 
that,  in  a  station  of  life  where  I  can  not  do  much,  I  am 
more  called  upon  to  procure  the  happiness  of  a  poor  neigh- 
bor, who  has  no  one  else  to  look  to,  than  to  form  wild  plans 
for  the  good  of  mankind,  too  extensive  to  be  accomplished, 
and  too  chimerical  to  be  put  in  practice.  It  is  the  height 
of  folly  for  a  little  ignorant  tradesman  to  distract  himself 
with  projecting  schemes  which  require  the  wisdom  of  schol- 
ars, the  experience  of  statesmen,  and  the  power  of  kings  to 
accomplish.  I  can  not  free  whole  countries,  nor  reform  the 
evils  of  society  at  large,  but  I  can  free  an  aggrieved  wretch 
in  &  workhouse  ;  I  can  relieve  the  distresses  of  one  of  my 


AND     HIS     MAN     WILLIAM.  209 

journeymen  ;  and  I  can  labor  to  reform  myself  and  my  own 
family." 

Some  weeks  after  this  a  letter  was  brought  to  Mr.  Fan- 
torn  from  Lis  late  servant,  William,  who  had  been  turned 
away  for  drunkenness,  as  related  above,  and  who  had  also 
robbed  bis  master  of  some  wine  and  some  spoons.  Mr. 
Fautoin,  glancing  bis  eye  over  tbe  letter,  said,  "  It  is  dated 
from  Chelmsford  jail ;  tbat  rascal  bas  got  into  prison.  I 
am  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart ;  it  is  tbe  fittest  place  for 
such  scoundrels.  I  hope  he  will  be  sent  to  Botany  Bay,  if 
not  hanged."  "  O,  ho  !  my  good  friend,"  said  lineman ; 
"  then  I  find  that  in  abolishing  all  prisons  you  would  just 
let  one  stand  for  the  accommodation  of  those  who  would 
happen  to  rob  you.  General  benevolence,  I  see,  is  compat- 
ible with  particular  resentments,  though  individual  kindness 
is  not  consistent  with  universal  philanthropy."  Mr.  Fantom 
drily  observed  that  he  was  not  fond  of  jokes,  and  proceeded 
to  read  the  letter.  It  expressed  an  earnest  wish  that  his 
late  master  would  condescend  to  pay  him  one  visit  in  his 
dark  and  doleful  abode,  as  he  wished  to  say  a  few  words  to 
him  before  the  dreadful  sentence  of  the  law,  which  had  al- 
ready been  pronounced,  should  be  executed. 

"Let  us  go  and  see  tbe  poor  fellow,"  said  Trueman  ;  "  it 
is  but  a  morning's  ride.  If  he  is  really  so  near  his  end  it 
would  be  cruel  to  refuse  him,"  "  Not  I,  truly,"  said  Fan- 
tom ;  "  he  deserves  nothing  at  my  hands  but  the  halter  he 
is  likely  to  meet  with.  Such  port  is  not  to  be  had  for 
money  !  and  the  sjiomus — part  of  my  new  dozen  !"  "  As  to 
the  wine,"  said  Trueman,  "  I  a:n  afraid  you  must  give  that 
up,  but  the  only  way  to  get  any  tidings  of  the  spoons  is  to 
go  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say  ;  I  have  no  doubt  but  he 
will  make  such  a  confession  as  may  be  very  useful  to  others, 
which,  you  know,  is  one  grand  advantage  of  punishments  ; 
and,  besides,  we  may  afford  him  some  little  comfort."    "As 


270  THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     FANTOM, 

to  comfort,  be  deserves  none  from  me,"  said  Fantom  ;  "  and 
is  to  Lis  concessions,  they  can  be  of  no  use  to  me,  but  as 
they  give  me  a  chance  of  getting  my  spoons  ;  so  1  do  not 
much  care  if  I  do  take  a  ride  with  you." 

When  they  came  to  the  prison,  Mr.  Trueman's  tender 
heart  sunk  within  him.  He  deplored  the  corrupt  nature  of 
man,  which  makes  such  rigorous  confinement  indispensably 
needful,  not  merely  for  the  punishment  of  the  offender,  but 
for  the  safety  of  society.  Fantom,  from  mere  trick  and 
habit,  was  just  preparing  a  speech  on  benevolence,  and  the 
cruelty  of  imprisonment ;  for  he  had  a  set  of  sentiments 
collected  from  the  new  philosophy  which  he  always  kept 
by  him.  The  naming  a  man  in  power  brought  out  the 
ready  cut  and  dried  phrase  against  oppression.  The  idea 
of  rank  included  every  vice,  that  of  poverty  every  virtue ; 
and  he  was  furnished  with  all  the  invectives  against  the 
cruelty  of  laws,  punishments,  and  prisons,  which  the  *iew 
lexicon  has  produced.  But  his-mechanical  benevolence  was 
suddenly  checked  ;  the  recollection  of  his  old  port  and  his 
new  spoons  cooled  his  ardor,  and  he  went  on  without  say- 
ing a  word. 

When  they  reached  the  cell  where  the  unhappy  William 
was  confined,  t:  ey  stopped  at  the  door.  The  poor  wretch 
had  thrown  himself  on  the  ground,  as  well  as  his  chains 
would  permit.  lie  groaned  piteously,  and  was  so  swallowed 
up  with  a  sense  of  his  own  miseries,  that  he  neither  heard 
the  door  open  nor  saw  the  gentlemen.  He  was  attempting 
to  pray,  but  in  an  agony  which  made  Ins  words  hardly  in- 
telligible. Thus  much  they  could  make  out — "God  be 
merciful  to  me  a  sinner,  the  chief  of  sinneis!"  then,  sud- 
denly attempting  to  start  up,  but  prevented  by  his  irons,  he 
roared  out,  "  O,  God  !  thou  canst  not  be  merciful  to  me,  for 
I  have  denied  thee  ;  I  have  ridiculed  my  Saviour  who  died 
for  me  ;  I  have  broken  his  laws  ;  I  have  derided  his  word  ; 


AND     HIS    MAN     WILLIAM.  2*71 

1  /ave  resisted  his  Spirit ;  I  have  laughed  at  that  heaven 
■«  «ich  is  shut  against  me  ;  I  have  denied  the  truth  of  those 
torments  which  await  me.  To-morrow!  to-morrow!  0 
foi  a  longer  space  for  repentance  !  O  for  a  short  reprieve 
fhui  hell !" 

Mr.  Trueman  wept  so  loud  that  it  drew  the  attention  of 
the  criminal,  who  now  lifted  up  his  eyes,  aud  cast  on  his 
late  master  a  look  so  dreadful  that  Fantom  wished  for  a 
moment  that  he  had  given  up  all  hope  of  the  spoons,  rather 
than  have  exposed  himself  to  such  a  scene.  At  length  the 
poor  wretch  said,  in  a  low  voice  that  would  have  melted 
a  heart  of  stone,  "  0,  sir,  are  you  there  ?  I  did  indeed  wish 
to  see  you  before  my  dreadful  sentence  is  put  in  execution. 
O,  sir,  to-morrow  !  to-morrow  !  But  I  have  a  confession  to 
make  to  you."  This  revived  Mr.  Fantom,  who  again  ven- 
tured to  glance  a  hope  at  the  spoons.  "  Sir,"  said  William, 
"  I  could  not  die  without  making  my  confession."  "  Ay, 
and  restitution,  too,  I  hope,"  replied  Fantom.  "  Where  are 
my  spoons  ?"  "  Sir,  they  are  gone  with  the  rest  of  my 
Avretched  booty.  But  oh,  sir  !  those  spoons  make  so  petty 
an  article  iu  my  black  account,  that  I  hardly  think  of  them. 
Murder !  sir — murder  is  the  crime  for  -which  I  am  justly 
doomed  to  die.  O,  sir,  who  can  abide  the  anger  of  an  of- 
fended God?  Who  can  dwell  with  everlasting  burnings?" 
As  this  was  a  question  -which  even  a  philosopher  could  not 
answer,  Mr.  Fantom  was  going  to  steal  off,  especially  as  he 
now  gave  up  all  hope  of  the  spoons ;  hut  William  called 
him  back  :  "  Stay,  sir,  I  conjure  you,  as  you  will  answer  it 
at  the  bar  of  God.  You  must  hear  the  sins  of  which  you 
have  been  the  occasion.  You  are  the  cause  of  my  being 
about  10  sutler  a  shameful  death.  Yes,  sir,  \on  made  me 
a  drunkard,  a  thief,  and  a  murderer."  "How  dare  you, 
William,"  cried  Mr.  Kautom,  with  great  emotion,  "accuse 
me  of  being  the  cause  of  such  horrid   crimes  ?"     "  Sir," 


272  THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     FANTOM, 

answered  the  criminal,  "from  you  I  learned  the  prinoiples 
which  lead  to  those  crimes.  By  the  grace  of  God  I  should 
never  have  fallen  into  sins  deserving  of  the  gallows,  if  I 
had  not  overheard  you  say  there  was  no  hereafter,  no  ju  !g- 
meut,  no  future  reckoning.  O,  sir,  there  is  a  hell,  dreadful, 
inconceivable,  eternal!"  Here,  through  the  excess  of  an- 
guish, the  poor  fellow  fainted  away.  Mr.  Fantom,  who  did 
not  at  all  relish  this  scene,  said  to  his  friend,  "  Well,  sir,  we 
will  go,  if  you  please,  for  you  see  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Trueman,  mournfully,  "  you  may  go 
if  you  please,  but  I  shall  stay,  for  I  see  there  is  a  great  deal 
to  be  done."  "  What !"  rejoined  the  other,  "  do  you  think 
it  possible  his  life  can  be  saved  ?"  "  No,  indeed,"  said  True- 
man,  "  but  I  hope  it  possible  his  soul  may  be  saved  !"  "I 
do  not  understand  these  things,"  said  Fantom,  making 
toward  the  door.  "  Nor  I,  neither,"  said  Trueman,  u  but  as 
a  fellow-sinner,  I  am  bound  to  do  what  I  can  for  this  poor 
man.  Do  you  go  home,  Mr.  Fantom,  and  finish  your  trea- 
tise on  universal  benevolence,  and  the  blessed  effects  of 
philosophy ;  and,  hark  ye,  be  sure  you  let  the  frontispiece 
of  your  book  represent  William  on  the  gibbet  ;  that  will  be 
what  our  minister  calls  a  practical  illustration.  You 
know  I  hate  theories  ;  this  is  realizing  ;  this  is  philosophy 
made  easy  to  the  meanest  capacity.  This  is  the  precious 
fruit  which  grows  on  that  darling  tree,  so  many  slips  of 
which  have  been  transplanted  from  that  land  of  liberty  of 
which  it  is  the  native,  but  which,  with  all  your  digging, 
planting,  watering,  dunging,  and  dressing,  will,  I  trust,  never 
thrive  in  this  blessed  land  of  ours." 

Mr.  Fantom  sneaked  oil  to  finish  his  work  at  home,  and 
Mr.  Trueman  staid  to  finish  his  in  the  prison.  He  .passed 
the  night  with  the  wretched  convict ;  he  prayed  with  him 
and  for  him,  and  read   to  him  the  penitential  psalms,  and 


AND     HIS     MAN     WILLIAM.  2*73 

some  portions  of  the  gospel.  But  lie  was  too  humble  and 
too  prudent  ajnan  to  venture  out  of  his  depth  by  argu- 
ments and  consolations  which  he  was  not  warranted  to  use; 
this  he  left  for  the  clergyman — but  he  pressed  on  William 
the  great  duty  of  making  the  only  amends  now  in  his  power 
to  those  whom  he  had  led  astray.  They  then  drew  up  the 
following  paper,  which  Mr.  Trueman  got  printed,  and  gave 
away  at  the  place  of  execution  : 

THE  LAST  WORDS,  CONFESSION,  AND  DYING  SPEECH  OF  WIL- 
LIAM WILSON,  WHO  WAS  EXECUTED  AT  CHELMSFORD,  FOR 
MURDER. 

"  I  was  bred  up  in  the  fear  of  God,  and  lived  with  credit 
in  many  sober  families,  in  which  I  was  a  faithful  servant ; 
but  being  tempted  by  a  little  higher  wages,  I  left  a  good 
place  to  go  and  live  with  Mr.  Fantom,  who,  however,  made 
good  none  of  his  fine  promises,  but  proved  a  hard  master. 
Full  of  fine  words  and  charitable  speeches  in  favor  of  the 
poor ;  but  apt  to  oppress,  overwork,  and  underpay  them. 
In  his  service  I  was  not  allowed  time  to  go  to  church. 
This  troubled  me  at  first,  till  I  overheard  my  master  say, 
that  going  to  church  was  a  superstitious  prejudice,  and  only 
iin  ant  for  the  vulgar.  Upon  this  I  resolved  to  go  no  more,  for 
I  thought  there  could  nol  be  two  religions,  one  for  the  master 
and  one  for  the  servant.  Finding  my  master  never  prayed,  I, 
too,  left  off  praying ;  this  gave  Satan  great  power  over  me,  so 
that  I  from  that  time  fell  into  almost  every  sin.  I  was  very 
uneasy  at  first,  and  my  conscience  gave  me  no  rest:  but  I 
was  soon  reconciled  by  overhearing  my  master  and  another 
gentleman  -ay.  that  death  was  only  an  eternal  sleep,  and  hell 
andjudgmenl  were  bul  an  invention  of  priests  to  keep  the  poor 
in  order.  I  mention  this  as  a  warning  to  all  master-  and  mis- 
tresses  to  take  care  what  they  converse  about  while  servants 
are  waiting  at  table.     They  can  not  tell  how  many  souls 

12* 


274  THE    HISTORY     OF     MR.'FANTOM, 

they  have  sent  to  perdition  with  such  loose  talk.  The  crime 
for  which  I  die  is  the  natural  consequence  of  the  principles 
I  learned  of  my  master.  A  rich  man,  indeed,  who  throws 
off  religion,  may  escape  the  gallows,  because  want  does  not 
drive  him  to  commit  those  crimes  which  lead  to  it ;  but 
what  shall  restrain  a  needy  man,  who  has  been  taught  that 
there  is  no  dreadful  reckoning  ?  Honesty  is  but  a  dream  with- 
out the  awful  sanctions  of  heaven  and  hell.  Virtue  is  but 
a  shadow,  if  it  be  stripped  of  the  terrors  and  promises  of  the 
gospel.  Morality  is  but  an  empty  name,  if  it  be  destitute 
of  the  principle  and  power  of  Christianity.  O,  my  dear 
fellow  servants  !  take  warning  by  my  sad  fate ;  never  be 
tempted  away  from  a  sober  service  for  the  sake  of  a  little 
more  wages ;  never  venture  your  immortal  souls  to  houses 
where  God  is  not  feared.  And  now  hear  me,  O  my  God ! 
though  I  have  blasphemed  thee !  Forgive  me,  0  my  Sav- 
iour !  though  I  have  denied  thee  !  O  Lord,  most  holy  !  0 
God,  most  mighty  !  deliver  me  from  the  bitter  pains  of  eter- 
nal death,  and  receive  my  soul,  for  His  sake  who  died  for 
sinners. 

"  "William  Wilson." 

Mr.  Trueman  would  never  leave  this  poor  penitent  till  he 
was  launched  into  eternity,  but  he  attended  him  with  the 
minister  in  the  cart.  This  pious  clergyman  never  cared  to 
say  what  he  thought  of  William's  state.  When  Mr.  True- 
man  ventured  to  mention  his  hope,  that  though  his  peni- 
tence was  late,  yet  it  was  sincere,  and  spoke  of  the  dying 
thief  on  the  cross  as  a  ground  of  encouragement,  the  min- 
ister with  a  very  serious  look,  made  this  answer :  "  Sir, 
that  instance  is  too  often  brought  forward  on  occasions  to 
which  it  does  not  apply  :  1  do  not  choose  to  say  any  tiling 
to  your  application  of  it  in  the  present  case,  but  I  will 
answer  you  in  the  words  of  a  good  man   speaking  of  the 


AND     HIS    MAS     WILLIAM.  275 

penitent  thief :  '  There  is  one  such  instance  given  that  no- 
body might  despair,  and  there  is  but  one,  that  nobody  might 
presume.' " 

Poor  William  was  turned  off  just  a  quarter  before  eleven ; 
and  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul ! 


THE  TWO  WEALTHY  FARMERS, 

OR,  THE  HISTORY  OF  MR.   BRAGWELL. 


PART   I.— THE   VISIT. 

Mr.  Bragwell  and  Mr.  Worthy  happened  to  meet  last 
year  at  Weyliill  fair.  They  were  glad  to  see  each  other,  as 
they  had  but  seldom  met  of  late  ;  Mr.  Bragwell  having  re- 
moved some  years  before  from  Mr.  Worthy's  neighborhood, 
to  a  distant  village  where  he  had  bought  an  estate. 

Mr.  Bragwell  was  a  substantial  fanner  and  grazier.  He 
had  risen  in  the  world  by  what  worldly  men  call  a  run  of 
good  fortune.  He  had  also  been  a  man  of  great  industry  ; 
that  is,  he  had  paid  a  diligent  and  constant  attention  to  his 
own  interest.  He  understood  business,  and  had  a  knack  of 
turning  almost  every  thing  to  his  owu  advantage.  He  had 
that  sort  of  sense  which  good  men  call  cunning,  and  knaves 
call  wisdom.  He  was  too  prudent  ever  to  do  any  thing  so 
wrong  that  the  law  could  take  hold  of  him  ;  yet  he  was 
not  over  scrupulous  about  the  morality  of  an  action,  when 
the  prospect  of  enriching  himself  by  it  was  very  great,  and 
the  chance  of  hurting  his  character  was  small.  The  corn 
he  sent  home  to  his  customers  was  not  always  quite  so  good 
as  the  samples  he  had  produced  at  market;  and  he  now 
and  then  forgot  to  name  some  capital  blemish  in  the  horses 


THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAG  WELL.  211 

he  sold  at  fair.  He  scorned  to  be  guilty  of  the  petty  fraud 
of  cheating  in  weights  and  measures,  for  lie  thought  that 
was  a  beggarly  sin;  but  he  valued  himself  on  his  skill  in 
making  a  bargain,  and  fancied  it  showed  his  superior  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  to  take  advantage  of  the  ignorance  of  a 
dealer. 

It  was  his  constant  rule  to  undervalue  every  thing  he 
was  about  to  buy,  and  to  overvalue  every  thing  he  was 
about  to  sell ;  but  as  he  seldom  lost  sight  of  his  discretion, 
he  avoided  every  thing  that  was  very  shameful ;  so  that  he 
was  considered  merely  as  a  hard  dealer,  and  a  keen  hand  at 
a  bargain.  Now  and  then  when  he  had  been  caught  in 
pushing  his  own  advantage  too  far,  he  contrived  to  get  out 
of  the  scrape  by  turning  the  whole  into  a  jest,  saying  it  was 
a  good  take  in,  a  rare  joke,  and  he  had  only  a  mind  to 
divert  himself  with  the  folly  of  his  neighbor,  who  could  be 
so  easily  imposed  on. 

Mr.  Bragwell,  however,  in  his  way,  set  a  high  value  on 
his  character:  not  indeed  that  he  had  a  right  sense  of  its 
worth  ;  he  did  not  consider  reputation  as  desirable  because 
it  increases  influence,  and  for  that  reason  strengthens  the 
hands  of  a  good  man,  and  enlarges  his  sphere  of  useful- 
ness :  but  he  made  the  advantage  of  reputation,  as  well  as 
of  every  other  good,  center  in  himself.  Had  he  observed 
a  strict  attention  to  principle,  he  feared  he  should  not  have 
got  on  so  fast  in  the  world  as  those  do  who  consult  expe- 
diency rather  than  probity,  while,  without  a  certain  degree 
of  character,  he  knew  also,  that  he  should  forfeit  that  con- 
fidence which  put  other  men  in  his  power,  and  would  set 
them  as  much  on  their  guard  against  him,  as  he,  who 
thought  all  mankind  pretty  much  alike,  was  on  his  guard 
against  them. 

Mr.  Bragwell  had  one  favorite  maxim  ;  namely,  that  a 
man's  success  in  life  was  a  sure  proof  of  his  wisdom  :  and 


278  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS, 

that  all  failure  and  misfortune  was  the  consequence  of  a  man's 
own  folly.  As  this  opinion  was  first  taken  up  by  him  from 
vanity  and  ignorance,  so  it  was  more  and  more  confirmed 
by  his  own  prosperity.  He  saw  that  he  himself  had  suc- 
ceeded greatly  without  either  money  or  education  to  begin 
with,  and  he  therefore  now  despised  every  man,  however 
excellent  his  character  or  talents  might  be,  who  had  not 
the  same  success  in  life.  His  natural  disposition  was  not 
particularly  bad,  but  prosperity  had  hardened  his  heart. 
He  made  his  own  progress  in  life  the  rule  by  which  the 
conduct  of  all  other  men  was  to  be  judged,  without  any  al- 
lowance for  their  peculiar  disadvantages,  or  the  visitations 
of  Providence.  He  thought,  for  his  part,  that  every  man 
of  sense  could  command  success  on  his  undertakings,  and 
control  and  dispose  the  events  of  his  own  life. 

But  though  he  considered  those  who  had  had  less  success 
than  h  mself  as  no  better  than  fools,  yet  he  did  not  extend 
this  opinion  to  Mr.  Worthy,  whom  he  looked  upon  not 
only  as  a  good  but  a  wise  man.  They  had  been  bred  up 
when  children  in  the  same  house  ;  but  with  this  difference, 
that  Worthy  was  the  nephew  of  the  master,  and  Bragwell 
the  son  of  the  servant. 

Bragwell's  father  had  been  plowman  in  the  family  of 
Mr.  Worthy's  uncle,  a  sensible  man  who  farmed  a  small 
estate  of  his  own,  and  who,  having  no  children,  bred  up 
young  Worthy  as  his  son,  instructed  him  in  the  business 
of  husbandry,  and  at  his  death  left  him  his  estate.  The 
father  of  Worthy  was  a  pious  clergyman,  who  lived  with 
his  brother  the  farmer,  in  order  to  help  out  a  narrow  in- 
come. Ho  had  bestowed  much  pains  on  the  instruction  of 
his  son,  and  used  frequently  to  repeat  to  him  a  saying,  which 
he  had  picked  up  in  a  book  written  by  one  of  the  greatest 
men  this  country  ever  produced — That  there  were  two 
things  with  which  every  man  ought  to  be   acquainted, 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       279 

Religion,  and  his  own  business.  "While  lie  therefore  took 
care  that  his  son  should  be  made  an  excellent  farmer,  he 
filled  up  his  leisure  hours  in  improving  his  mind  :  so  that 
young  Worthy  had  read  more  good  books,  and  understood 
them  better,  than  most  men  in  his  station.  His  reading, 
however,  had  been  chiefly  confined  to  husbandry  and  di- 
vinity, the  two  subjects  which  were  of  the  most  immediate 
importance  to  him. 

The  reader  will  see  by  this  time  that  Mr.  Bragwell  and 
Mr.  Worthy  were  as  likely  to  be  as  opposite  to  each  other 
as  two  men  could  well  be,  who  were  nearly  of  the  same 
age  and  condition,  and  who  were  neither  of  them  without 
credit  in  the  world.  Bragwell  indeed  made  far  the  greater 
figure  ;  for  he  liked  to  cut  a  dash,  as  he  called  it.  It  was 
his  delight  to  make  the  ancient  gentry  of  the  neighborhood 
stare,  at  seeing  a  crazier  vie  with  them  in  show,  and  exceed 

'00  ' 

them  in  expense.  And  while  it  was  the  study  of  Worthy 
to  conform  to  his  station,  and  to  set  a  good  example  to 
those  about  him,  it  was  the  delight  of  Bragwell  to  eclipse, 
in  his  way  of  life,  men  of  larger  fortune.  He  did  not  see 
how  much  his  vanity  raised  the  envy  of  his  inferiors,  the 
ill-will  of  his  equals,  and  the  contempt  of  his  betters. 

His  wife  was  a  notable  stirring  woman,  but  vain,  violent, 
and  ambitious  ;  very  ignorant,  and  very  high-minded.  She 
had  married  Bragwell  before  he  was  worth  a  shilling,  and 
as  she  had  brought  him  a  good  deal  of  money,  she  thought 
herself  the  grand  cause  of  his  rising  in  the  world  ;  and 
thence  took  occasion  to  govern  him  most  completely. 
Whenever  he  ventured  to  oppose  her,  she  took  care  to  put 
him  in  mind  that  lie  owed  every  thing  to  her;  that  had  it 
not  been  for  her,  he  might  still  have  been  stumping  after  a 
plow-tail,  or  serving  bogs  in  old  Worthy's  farm-yard  ;  but 
that  it  was  she  who  made  a  gentleman  of  him.  In  order 
to  set  about  making  him  a  gentleman,  she  had  bo^un  by 


280  THE     TWO     WEALTH  V     FARMERS', 

teasing  him  till  lie  had  turned  away  all  his  poor  relations 
who  worked  on  the  farm  ;  she  next  drew  him  off  from 
keeping  company  with  his  old  acquaintances,  and  at  last 
persuaded  him  to  remove  from  the  place  where  he  had  got 
his  money.  Poor  woman  !  she  had  not  sense  and  virtue 
enough  to  see  how  honorable  it  is  for  a  man  to  raise  him- 
self in  the  world  by  fair  means,  and  then  to  help  forward 
his  poor  relations  and  fiiends;  engaging  their  services  by 
his  kindness,  and  endeavoring  to  turn  his  own  advancement 
in  life  to  the  best  account,  and  of  making  it  the  instru- 
ment of  assisting  those  who  had  a  natural  claim  to  his  pro- 
tection. 

Mrs.  Bragwell  was  an  excellent  mistress,  according  to  her 
own  notions  of  excellence  ;  for  no  one  could  say  she  ever 
lost  an  opportunity  of  scolding  a  servant,  or  was  ever  guilty 
of  the  weakness  of  overlooking  a  fault.  Toward  her  two 
daughters  her  behavior  was  far  otherwise.  In  them  she 
could  see  nothing  but  perfections,  but  her  extravagant 
fondness  for  these  girls  was  full  as  much  owing  to  pride  as 
to  affection.  She  was  bent  on  making  a  family,  and  hav- 
ing found  out  that  she  was  too  ignorant,  and*  too  much 
trained  to  the  habits  of  getting  money,  ever  to  hope  to 
make  a  figure  herself,  she  looked  to  her  daughters  as  the 
persons  who  were  to  raise  the  family  of  the  Bragwells ; 
and  to  this  hope  she  foolishly  submitted  to  any  drudgery 
for  their  sake s  and  bore  every  kind  of  impertinence  from 
them. 

The  first  wish  of  her  heart  was  to  set  them  above  their 
neighbors  ;  for  she  used  to  say,  what  was  the  use  of  having 
substance,  if  her  daughters  might  not  carry  themselves 
above  girls  who  had  uothing  '.  To  do  her  justice,  she  her- 
self would  be  about  early  and  late  to  see  that  the  business  of 
the  house  was  not  ueglected.  She  had  been  bred  to  great 
industry,  and  continued  to  work  when  it  was  no  longer  ne- 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       281 

cessary,  both  from  early  habit,  and  tli 3  desire  of  heaping 
up  money  for  >her  daughters.     Yet  her  whole  notion   of 
gentility  was,  that  it  consisted  in  being-  rich  and  idle  ;  and, 
though  she  was  williniv  to  bo  a  drudge  herself,  she  resolved 
to  make  her  daughters  gentlewomen  on  this  principle.     To 
be  well  dressed,  to  eat  elegantly,  and  to  do  nothing,  or 
nothing  which  is   of  any  use,  was  what   she  fancied  dis- 
tinguished people  in  genteel  life.     And  this  is  too  common 
a  notion  of  a  fine  education  among  a  certain  class ;  they 
do  not   esteem   things   by  their  use,  but   by  their  show. 
They  estimate  the  value  of  their  children's  education  by 
the  money  it  costs,  and  not  by  the  knowledge  and  goodness 
it  bestows.     People  of  this  stamp  often  take  a  pride  in  the 
expense  of  learning,  instead  of  taking  pleasure  in  the  advan- 
tage of  it.    And  the  silly  vanity  of  letting  others  see  that  they 
can  afford  any  thing,  often  sets   parents  on   letting  their 
daughters  learn  not  only  things  of  no  use,  but  things  which 
may  be  really  hurtful   in  their  situation  ;  either  by  setting 
them  above  their  proper  duties,  or  by  taking  up  their  time 
in  a  way  inconsistent  with  them. 

Mrs.  Brae-well  sent  her  daughters  to  a  boarding-school, 
where  she  instructed  them  to  hold  up  their  heads  as  high 
as  any  body ;  to  have  more  spirit  than  to  be  put  upon  by 
any  one  ;  never  to  be  pitiful  about  money,  but  rather  to 
show  that  they  could  afford  to  spend  with  the  best ;  to  keep 
company  with  the  richest  and  most  fashionable  girls  in  the 
school,  and  to  make  no  acquaintance  with  the  farmers' 
daughters. 

They  came  home  at  the  usual  age  of  leaving  school,  with 
a  large  portion  of  vanity  grafted  on  their  native  ignorance. 
The  vanity  was  added,  l>ut  the  ignorance  was  not  taken 
away.  Of  religion  they  could  not  possibly  learn  an\  thing, 
since  none  was  taught,  for  at  that  place  Christianity  was 
considered  as  a  part  of  education  which  belonged  only  to 


282  THE    TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

charity  schools.  They  went  to  church  indeed  once  a  Sun- 
day, yet  effectually  to  counteract  auy  henefit  such  an  at- 
tendance might  produce,  it  was  the  rule  of  the  school  that 
they  should  use  only  French  prayer-books ;  of  course,  such 
superficial  scholars  as  the  Miss  Bragwells  would  always  be 
literally  praying  in  an  unknown  tongue  ;  while  girls  of  bet- 
ter capacity  and  more  industry  would  infallibly  be  picking 
out  the  nominative  case,  the  verb,  and  a  participle  of  a 
foreign  language,  in  the  solemn  act  of  kneeling  before  the 
Father  of  Spirits,  "  who  searcheth  the  heart  and  trieth  the 
reins."  During  the  remainder  of  the  Sunday  they  learned 
their  worldly  tasks,  all  except  actual  needle- work,  which 
omission  alone  marked  the  distinction  of  Sunday  from  other 
days ;  and  the  governess  being  a  French  Roman  Catholic, 
it  became  a  doubtful  point  with  some  people,  whether  her 
zeal  or  her  negligence  in  the  article  of  reliirion  would  be 
most  to  the  advantage  of  her  pupils.  Of  knowledge  the 
Miss  Bragwells  had  got  just  enough  to  laugh  at  their  fond 
parents'  rustic  manners  and  vulgar  language,  and  just 
enough  taste  to  despise  and  ridicule  every  girl  who  was  not 
as  vainly  dressed  as  themselves. 

The  mother  had  been  comforting  herself  for  the  heavy 
expense  of  their  bringing  up,  by  looking  forward  to  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  them  become  fine  ladies,  and  the  pride 
of  marrying  them  above  their  station  ;  and  to  this  hope  she 
constantly  referred  in  all  her  conversations  with  them  ;  as- 
suring them  that  all  her  happiness  depended  on  their  future 
elevation. 

Their  father  hoped,  with  far  more  judgment,  that  they 
would  be  a  comfort  to  him  both  in  sickness  and  in  health. 
He  had  no  learning  himself,  and  could  write  but  poorly,  and 
owed  what  skill  he  had  in  figures  to  his  natural  turn  of  bus- 
iness. He  reasonably  hoped  that  his  daughters,  after  all  the 
money  he  had  spent  on  them,  would  now  write  his  letters 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.    BRAGWELL.       283 

and  keep  his  accounts.  And  as  he  was  now  and  then  laid  up 
with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  he  was  enjoying  the  prospect  of  hav- 
ing two  affectionate  children  to  nurse  him,  as  well  as  two 
skillful  assistants  to  relieve  him. 

When  they  came  home,  however,  he  had  the  mortifica- 
tion to  find,  that  though  he  had  two  smart  showy  ladies  to 
visit  him,  he  had  neither  dutiful  daughters  to  nurse  him,  nor 
faithful  stewards  to  keep  his  books,  nor  prudent  children  to 
manage  his  house.  They  neither  soothed  him  by  their 
kindness  when  he  was  sick,  nor  helped  him  by  their  indus- 
try when  he  was  busy.  They  thought  the  maid  might  take 
care  of  him  in  the  "out  as  she  did  before;  for  they  fancied 
that  nu:sin_c  was  a  coarse  an  1  servile  employment;  and  as 
to  their  skill  in  ciphering  he  soon  found,  to  his  cost,  that 
though  they  knew  how  to  spend  both  pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence,  yet  they  did  not  know  how  so  well  to  cast  them  up. 
Indeed  it  is  to  he  regretted  that  women  in  general,  especi- 
ally in  the  middle  class,  are  so  little  grounded  in  so  indis- 
pensable, solid,  and  valuable  an  acquirement  as  arithmetic 

Mrs.  Brag  we  II  being  one  day  very  busy  in  preparing  a 
great  dinner  for  the  neighbors,  ventured  to  request  her 
daughters  to  assist  in  making  the  pastry.  They  asked  her 
with  a  scornful  smile,  whet  her  she  had  sent  them  to  a  board- 
ing school  to  learn  to  cook;  and  added,  that  tiny  supposed 
Bhe  would  expect  them  next  to  make  hasty-puddings  for 
the  hay-makers.  So  saying,  they  coolly  marched  off  to  their 
music.  When  the  mother  found  her  girls  too  polite  to  be 
of  any  use.  she  would  take  comfort  in  observing  how  her 
pailor  was  set  out  with  their  filagree  and  flowers,  their 
embroider}  and  cut  paper.  They  spent  the  morning  in  bed, 
the  noon  in  dressing,  the  evening  at  the  harpsicord,  and  the 
night  in  reading  novel-. 

With  all  these  fine  qualifications  it  is  easy  to  suppose, 
that  as  they  despised  their  sober  duties,  they  no  less  de- 


284  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

spised  their  plain  neighbors.  When  they  could  not  get  tu 
a  horse-race,  a  petty-ball,  or  a  strolling  play,  with  some  com- 
pany as  idle  and  as  smart  as  themselves,  they  were  driven  for 
amusement  to  the  circulating  library.  Jack,  the  plow-boy, 
on  whom  they  had  now  put  a  livery  jacket,  was  employed 
half  his  time  in  trotting  backward  and  forward  with  the 
most  wretched  trash  the  little  neighboring  bookshop  could 
furnish.  The  choice  was  often  left  to  Jack,  who  could  not 
read,  but  who  had  general  orders  to  bring  all  the  new 
things,  and  a  great  many  of  them. 

It  was  a  misfortune,  that  at  the  school  at  which  they  had 
been  bred,  and  at  some  others,  there  was  no  system  of  educa- 
tion which  had  any  immediate  reference  to  the  station  of  life 
to  which  the  girls  chiefly  belonged.  As  persons  in  the  mid- 
dle line,  for  want  of  that  acquaintance  with  books,  and  with 
life  and  manners,  which  the  great  possess,  do  not  always  see 
the  connection  between  remote  consequences  and  their  caus- 
es, the  evils  of  a  corrupt  and  inappropriate  system  of  edu- 
cation do  not  strike  them  so  forcibly  ;  and  provided  they 
can  pay  for  it,  which  is  made  the  grand  criterion  between 
the  fit  and  the  unfit,  they  are  too  little  disposed  to  consider 
the  value,  or  rather  the  worthlessness,  of  the  thing  which  is 
paid  for :  but  literally  go  on  to  give  their  money  for  that 
which  is  not  bread. 

Their  subsequent  course  of  reading  serves  to  establish  all 
the  errors  of  their  education.  Instead  of  such  books  as 
might  help  to  confirm  and  strengthen  them  in  all  the  vir- 
tues of  their  station,  in  humility,  economy,  meekness,  con 
tentment,  self-denial,  and  industry;  the  studies  now  adopted 
are,  by  a  graft  on  the  old  stock,  made  to  grow  on  the  habits 
acquired  at  school.  Of  those  novels  and  plays  which  are 
so  eagerly  devoured  by  persons  of  this  description,  there 
is  perhaps  scarce  one  which  is  not  founded  upon  princi- 
ples which  would  lead  young  women  of  the  middle  ranks 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.      BRAGWELL.       285 

to  be  discontented  with  their  station.  It  is  rank — it  is 
elegance — it  is-beauty — it  is  sentimental  feelings — it  is  sens- 
ibility— it  is  some  needless,  or  some  superficial,  or  some 
hurtful  quality,  even  in  that  fashionable  person  to  whom  the 
author  ascribes  it,  which  is  the  ruling  principle.  This  qual- 
ity transferred  into  the  heart  and  the  conduct  of  an  illiter- 
ate woman  in  an  inferior  station,  becomes  absurdity,  becomes 
sinfulness. 

Things  were  in  this  state  in  the  family  we  are  describing, 
or  rather  growing  worse;  for  idleness  and  vanity  are  never 
at  a  stand ;  when  these  two  wealthy  farmers,  Bragvvell  and 
Worthy,  met  at  Weyhill  fair,  as  was  said  before.  After 
many  hearty  salutations  had  passed  between  them,  it  was 
agreed  that  Mr.  Bragwell  should  spend  the  next  day  with 
his  old  friend  whose  house  was  not  many  miles  distant. 
Bragwell  invited  himself  in  the  following  manner  :  "  We 
have  not  had  a  comfortable  day's  chat  for  years,"  said  he  ; 
"  and  as  I  am  to  look  at  a  drove  of  lean  beasts  in'  your 
neighborhood,  I  will  take  a  bed  at  your  house,  and  we  will 
pass  the  evening  debating  as  we  used  to  do.  You  know  I 
always  loved  a  bit  of  an  argument,  and  am  not  reckoned  tc 
make  the  worst  figure  at  our  club.  I  had  not,  to  be  sure, 
such  good  learning  as  you  had,  because  your  father  was  a 
parson,  and  you  got  it  for  nothing ;  but  I  can  bear  my  part 
pretty  well  for  all  that.  When  any  man  talks  to  me  about 
his  learning,  I  ask  if  it  has  helped  him  to  get  a  good  estate  ; 
if  he  says  no,  then  1  would  not  give  him  a  rush  for  it ;  for 
of  what  use  is  all  the  learning  in  the  world,  if  it  does  not 
make  a  man  rich  ?  But  as  I  was  saying,  I  will  come  and 
see  you  to-morrow  ;  but  now  don't  let  your  wife  put  herself 
in  a  fuss  for  me  :  don't  alter  your  own  plain  way  ;  for  T  am 
not  proud,  I  assure  you,  nor  above  my  old  friends;  though 
I  thank  God,  I  am  pretty  well  in  the  world." 

To  all   this  flourishing  speech   Mr.  Worthy  coolly  an- 


280  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS', 

swered,  that  certainly  worldly  prosperity  ought  never  make 
any  man  proud,  since  it  is  Cod  who  giveth  strength  to  get 
riches,  and  without  his  blessing,  'fo's  in  vain  to  rise  up  early, 
and  to  tat  the  bread  of  carefulness. 

About  the  middle  of  the  next  day  Mr.  Bragwell  reached 
Mr.  Worthy's  neat  and  pleasant  dwelling.  He  found  every 
thing  in  the  reverse  of  his  own.  It  had  not  so  many  orna- 
ments, but  it  had  more  comforts.  And  when  he  saw  his 
fiiend's  good  old-fashioned  arm-chair  in  a  warm  corner,  he 
gave  a  sigh  to  think  how  his  own  had  been  banished  to 
make  room  for  his  daughter's  piano-forte.  Instead  of  made 
flowers  in  glass  cases,  and  tea-chests  and  screens  too  flue  to 
be  used,  which  he  saw  at  home,  an  1  about  which  he  was 
cautioned,  and  scolded  as  often  as  he  came  near  them ;  his 
daughters  watching  his  motions  with  the  same  anxiety  as 
they  would  have  watched  the  motions  of  a  cat  in  a  china 
shop.  Instead  of  this,  I  say,  he  saw  some  neat  shelves  of 
good"  books  for  the  service  of  the  family,  and  a  small  med- 
icine chest  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor. 

Mrs.  Worthy  and  her  daughters  had  prepared  a  plain  but 
neat  and  good  dinner.  The  tarts  were  so  excellent  that 
Bragwell  felt  a  secret  kind  of  regret  that  his  own  daughters 
were  too  genteel  to  do  any  thing  so  very  useful.  Indeed 
he  had  been,  always  unwilling  to  believe  that  any  thing 
which  was  very  proper  and  very  necessary,  could  be  so  ex- 
tremely vulgar  and  unbecoming  as  his  daughters  were  al- 
ways declaring  it  to  be.  And  his  late  experience  of  the 
little  comfort  he  found  at  home,  inclined  him  now  still  more 
strongly  to  suspect  that  things  were  not  so  right  there  as 
he  had  been  made  to  suppose.  But  it  was  in  vain  to  speak  ; 
for  his  daughters  constantly  stopped  his  mouth  by  a  favor- 
ite saying  of  theirs,  which  equally  indicated  affectation  and 
vulgarity,  that  it  was  better  to  be  out  of  the  world  than  out 
of  the  fashion. 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       281 

Soon  after  dinner  the  women  went  out  to  their  several 
employments ;  and  Mr.  Worthy  being  left  alone  with  his 
guest,  the  following  discourse  took  place  : 

BragwelL  You  have  a  couple  of  sober,  pretty  looking 
girls,  Worthy ;  but  I  wonder  they  don't  tiff  off  a  little  more 
Why,  my  girls  have  as  much  fat  and  flour  on  their  heads 
as  would  half  maintain  my  reapers  in  suet  pudding. 

Worthy.  Mr.  Bragwell,  in  the  management  of  my  family, 
I  don't  consider  what  I  might  afford  only,  though  that  is 
one  great  point ;  but  I  consider  also  what  is  needful  and 
becoming  in  a  man  of  my  station ;  for  there  are  so  many 
useful  ways  of  laying  out  money,  that  I  feel  as  if  it  were  a 
sin  to  spend  one  unnecessary  shilling.  Having  had  the  bless- 
ing of  a  good  education  myself  I  have  been  able  to  give 
the  like  advantage  to  my  daughters.  One  of  the  best  les- 
sons I  have  taught  them  is,  to  know  themselves ;  and  one 
proof  that  they  have  learned  this  lesson  is,  that  they  are  not 
above  any  of  the  duties  of  their  station,  They  read  and 
write  well,  and  when  my  eyes  are  bad,  they  keep  my  ac- 
counts in  a  very  pretty  manner.  If  I  had  put  them  to  learn 
what  you  call  genteel  things,  these  might  have  been  of  no 
use  to  them,  and  so  both  time  and  money  thrown  away;  or 
they  might  have  proved  worse  than  nothing  to  them  by  lead- 
ing them  into  wrong  notions,and  wrong  company.  Though 
we  do  not  wish  them  to  do  the  laborious  parts  of  the  dairy 
work,  yet  they  always  assist  their  mother  in. the  managment 
of  it.  As  to  their  appearance,  they  are  every  day  nearly  as 
you  see  them  now,  and  on  Sunday  they  are  very  neatly 
dressed,  but  it  is  always  in  a  decent  and  modest  way.  There 
are  no  lappets,  fringes,  furbelows,  and  tawdry  ornaments; 
no  trains,  turbans,  and  flounces,  fluttering  about  my  cheese 
and  butter.  And  I  should  feel  no  vanity,  but  much  morti- 
fication, if  a  Btranger,  seeing  Farmer  Worthy's  daughters  at 
church,  should  ask  who  those  fine  ladies  were. 


288  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS", 

Bragwell.  Now  I  own  I  should  like  to  have  such  a  ques- 
tion asked  concerning  my  daughters;  I  like  to  make  people 
stare  and  envy.  It  makes  one  feel  one-self  somebody.  I 
never  feel  the  pleasure  of  having  handsome  things  so  much 
as  when  I  see  they  raise  curiosity ;  and  enjoy  the  envy  of 
others  as  a  fresh  evidence  of  my  own  prosperity.  But  as 
to  yourself,  to  be  sure,  you  best  know  what  you  can  afford  ; 
and  iudeed  that  there  is  some  difference  between  vour  dauo;h- 
ters  and  the  Miss  Brag  wells, 

Worthy.  For  my  part,  before  I  engage  in  any  expense,  I 
always  ask  myself  these  two  short  questions ;  First,  can  I 
afford  it  ?     Secondly,  is  it  proper  for  me  ? 

Bragzvell.  Do  you  so  ?  Now  I  own  I  ask  myself  but  one  ; 
for  if  I  find  I  can  afford  it,  I  take  care  to  make  it  proper 
for  me.  If  I  can  pay  for  a  thing,  no  one  has  a  right  to 
hinder  me  from  having  it. 

Worthy.  Certainly.  But  a  man's  own  prudence,  his  love 
of  propriety  and  sense  of  duty,  ought  to  prevent  him  from 
doing  an  improper  thing,  as  effectually  as  if  there  were 
somebody  to  hinder  him. 

Bragwell.  Now,  I  think  a  man  is  a  fool  who  is  hindered 
from  having  any  thing  he  has  a  mind  to  ;  unless  indeed,  he 
is  in  want  of  money  to  pay  for  it.  I  am  no  friend  to  debt. 
A  poor  man  must  want  on. 

Worthy.  But  I  hope  my  children  have  not  learned  to 
want  any  thing  which  is  not  proper  for  them.  They  are 
very  industrious ;  they  attend  to  business  all  day,  and  in 
the  evening  they  sit  down  to  their  work  and  a  good  book. 
I  take  care  that  neither  their  reading  nor  conversation  shall 
excite  any  desires  or  tastes  unsuitable  to  their  condition. 
They  have  little  vanity,  because  the  kind  of  knowledge  they 
have  is  of  too  sober  a  sort  to  raise  admiration  ;  and  from 
that  vanity  which  attends  a  little  smattering  of  frivolous 
accomplishments,  I  have  secured  them,  by  keeping  them  in 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF    MR.     BRAGWELL.       289 

total  ignorance  of  all  such.  I  think  they  live  in  the  fear  of 
God.  I  trust  they  are  humble  and  pious,  and  I  am  sure 
they  seem  cheerful  and  happy.  If  I  am  sick,  it  is  pleasant 
to  see  them  dispute  which  shall  wait  upon  me;  for  they 
say  the  maid  can  not  do  it  so  tenderly  as  themselves. 

This  part  of  the  discourse  staggered  Bragwell.  An  in- 
voluntary tear  rushed  into  his  eye.  Vain  as  he  was,  be 
could  not  help  feeling  what  a  difference  a  religious  and  a 
worldly  education  made  on  the  beart,  and  how  much  the 
former  regulated  even  the  natural  temper.  Another  thing 
which  su  prised  him  was,  that  these  girls  living  a  life  of 
domestic  piety,  without  any  public  diversions,  should  be  so 
very  cheerful  and  happy  ;  while  his  own  daughters,  who 
were  never  contradicted,  and  were  indulged  with  continual 
amusements,  were  always  sullen  and  ill  tempered.  That 
they  who  were  more  humored,  should  be  less  grateful,  and 
they  who  were  more  amused  less  happy,  disturbed  him 
much.  He  envied  Worthy  the  tenderness  of  his  children, 
though  he  would  not  own  it,  but  turned  it  off  thus  : 

Bragwell.  But  my  girls  are  too  smart  to  make  mops  of, 
that  is  the  truth.  Though  ours  is  a  lonely  village,  it  is 
wonderful  to  see  how  soon  they  get  the  fashions.  What 
with  the  descriptions  in  the  magazines,  and  the  pictures  in 
the  pocket-books,  they  have  them  in  a  twinkling  and  out-do 
their  patterns  all  to  nothing.  I  used  to  take  iu  the  Coun- 
try Journal,  because  it  was  useful  enough  to  see  how  oats 
went,  the  time  of  high  water,  and  the  price  of  stocks.  But 
when  my  ladies  came  home,  forsooth,  I  was  soon  wheedled 
out  of  that,  and  forced  to  take  a  London  paper,  that  tells  a 
deal  about  the  caps  and  feathers,  and  all  the  trumpery  of 
the  quality,  and  the  French  dress,  and  the  French  undress. 
When  I  want  to  know  what  hops  are  a  bag,  they  are  snatch- 
ing the  paper  to  see  what  violet  soap  is  a  pound.  And  as 
to  the  dairy,  they  never  care  how  cow's  milk  goes,  as  long 

13 


290  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS", 

as  they  can  get  some  stuff  which  they  call  milk  of  roses. 
Seeing  them  disputing  violently  the  other  day  about  cream 
and  butter,  I  thought  it  a  sign  they  were  beginning  to  care 
for  the  farm,  till  I  found  it  was  cold  cream  for  the  hands, 
and  jessamine  butter  for  the  hair. 

Worthy.  But  do  your  daughters  never  read  \ 

Brag  well.  Read  !  I  believe  they  do  too.  Why  our  Jack, 
the  plow-boy,  spends  half  his  time  in  going  to  a  shop  in 
our  market  town,  where  they  let  out  books  to  read,  with 
marble  covers.  And  they  sell  paper  with  all  manner  of 
colors  on  the  edges,  and  gim-cracks,  and  powder-puffs,  and 
wash-balls,  and  cards  without  any  pips,  and  every  thing  in 
the  world  that's  genteel  and  of  no  use.  'Twas  but  the  other 
day  I  met  Jack  with  a  basket  full  of  these  books ;  so  having 
some  time  to  spare,  I  sat  down  to  6ee  a  little  what  they 
were  about. 

Worthy.  "Well,  I  hope  you  there  found  what  was  likely 
to  improve  your  daughters,  and  teach  them  the  true  use  of 
time. 

Bragwell.  O,  as  to  that,  you  are  pretty  much  out.  I 
could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it ;  it  was  neither  fish, 
flesh,  nor  good  red-herring;  it  was  all  about  my  lord,  and 
Sir  Harry,  ami  the  captain.  But  I  never  met  with  such 
nonsensical  fellows  in  my  lite.  Their  talk  was  no  more  like 
that  of  my  old  landlord,  who  was  a  lord  you  know,  nor  the 
captain  of  our  fencibles,  than  chalk  is  like  cheese.  I  was 
fairly  taken  in  at  first,  and  began  to  think  I  had  got  hold 
of  a  godly  book  ;  for  there  was  a  deal  about  hope  and  de- 
spair, and  death,  and  heaven,  and  angels,  and  torments,  and 
everlasting  happiuess.  But  when  I  got  a  little  on,  I  found 
there  was  no  meaning  in  all  these  words,  or  if  any,  it  was  a 
bad  meaning.  Eternal  misery,  perhaps,  only  meant  a 
moment's  disappointment  about  a  bit  of  a  letter ;  and  ever- 
lasting happiness  meant  two  people  talking  nonsense  to- 


OR,    THE    HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       291 

gether  for  five  minutes.  In  short,  I  never  met  with  such  a 
pack  of  lies.  '  The  p*eople  talk  such  wild  gibberish  as  no 
folks  in  their  sober  senses  ever  did  talk;  and  the  things  that 
happen  to  them  are  not  like  the  things  that  ever  happen  to 
me  or  any  of  my  acquaintance.  They  are  at  home  one 
minute,  and  beyond  sea  the  next ;  beggars  to-day,  and  lords 
to-morrow ;  waiting-maids  in  the  morning,  and  dut chesses 
at  night.  Nothing  happens  in  a  natural  gradual  way,  as  it 
does  at  home ;  they  grow  rich  by  the  stroke  of  a  wand,  and 
poor  by  the  magic  of  a  word ;  the  disinherited  orphan  of 
this  hour  is  the  overgrown  heir  of  the  next ;  now  a  bride 
and  bridegroom  turn  out  to  be  brother  and  sister,  and  the 
brother  and  sister  prove  to  be  no  relations  at  all.  You  and 
I,  master  Worthy,  have  worked  hard  many  years,  and  think 
it  very  well  to  have  scraped  a  trifle  of  money  together  ;  you, 
a  few  hundreds,  I  suppose,  and  I  a  few  thousands.  But  one 
would  think  every  man  in  these  books  had  the  bank  of  En- 
gland in  his  'scrutoire.  Then  there  is  another  thing  which 
I  never  met  with  in  true  life.  We  think  it  pretty  well,  you 
know,  if  one  has  got  one  thing,  and  another  has  got  an- 
other. I  will  tell  you  how  I  mean.  You  are  reckoned  sen- 
sible, our  parson  is  learned,  the  squire  is  rich,  I  am  rather 
generous,  one  of  your  daughters  is  pretty,  and  both  mine 
are  genteel.  But  in  these  books  (except  here  and  there 
one,  whom  they  make  worse  than  Satan  himself),  every 
man  and  woman's  child  of  them,  are  all  wise,  and  witty, 
and  generous,  and  rich,  and  handsome,  and  genteel  ;  and 
all  to  the  last  degree.  Nobody  is  middling,  or  good  in  one 
thing,  and  bad  in  another,  like  my  live  acquaintance ;  but 
it  is  all  up  to  the  skies,  or  down  to  the  dirt.  I  had  ratlin 
read  Tom  Hickathrift,  or  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  a  thousand 
times. 

Worthy.  You  have  found  out,  Mr.  Bragwell,  that  many 
of  these  books  are  ridiculous  ;  I  will  go  further,  and  say, 


292  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

that  to  me  they  appear  wicked  also;  and  I  should  account 
the  reading  of  them  a  great  mischief, 'especially  to  people  in 
middling  and  low  life,  if  I  only  took  into  the  account  the 
great  loss  of  time  such  reading  causes,  and  the  aversion  it 
leaves  behind  for  what  is  more  serious  and  solid.  But  this, 
though  a  bad  part,  is  not  the  worst.  These  books  give 
false  views  of  human  life.  They  teach  a  contempt  for  hum- 
ble and  domestic  duties  ;  for  industry,  frugality,  and  retire- 
ment. Want  of  youth  and  beauty  is  considered  in  them  as 
ridiculous.  Plain  people,  like  you  and  me,  are  objects  of 
contempt.  Parental  authority  is  set  at  naught.  Nay,  plots 
and  contrivances  against  parents  and  guardians  fill  half  the 
volumes.  They  consider  love  as  the  great  business  of 
human  life,  and  even  teach  that  it  is  impossible  for  this  love 
to  be  regulated  or  restrained;  and  to  the  indulgence  of  this 
passion  every  duty  is  therefore  sacrificed.  A  country  life, 
with  a  kind  mother  or  a  sober  aunt,  is  described  as  a  state 
of  intolerable  misery;  and  one  would  be  apt  to  fancy  from 
their  painting,  that  a  good  country-house  is  a  prison,  and  a 
worthy  father  the  jailor.  Vice  is  set  off"  with  every  orna- 
ment which  can  make  it  pleasing  and  amiable ;  while  virtue 
and  piety  are  made  ridiculous,  by  tacking  to  them  some- 
thing  that  is  silly  or  absurd.  Crimes  which  would  be  con- 
sidered as  hanging  matter  at  our  county  assizes — at  least 
if  I  were  a  juryman,  I  should  bring  in  the  whole  train  of 
heroes,  Guilty — Death — are  here  made  to  the  appearance 
of  virtue,  by  being  mixed  with  some  wild  flight  of  unnatural 
generosity.  Those  crying  sins,  adultery,  gaming,  duels, 
and  self-murder,  are  made  so  familiar,  and  the  wickedness 
of  them  is  so  disguised  by  fine  words  and  soft  descriptions, 
that  even  innocent  girls  get  loose  to  their  abhorrence,  and 
talk  with  complacency  of  things  which  should  not  be  so 
much  as  named  by  them. 

I  should  not  have  said  so  much  on  this  mischief,  con- 


OR,     THE     HISTORY    OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       293 

tinued  Mr.  Worthy,  from  which  I  dare  say,  great  folks  fancy 
people  in  our  station  are  safe  enough,  if  I  did  not  know  and 
lament  that  this  corrupt  reading  is  now  got  down  even 
among  some  of  the  lowest  class.  And  it  is  an  evil  which  is 
spreading  eveiy  day.  Poor  industrious  girls,  who  get  their 
bread  by  the  needle  or  the  loom,  spend  half  the  night  in 
listening  to  these  books.  Thus  the  labor  of  one  girl  is  lost, 
and  the  minds  of  the  rest  are  corrupted ;  for  though  their 
hands  are  employed  in  honest  industry,  which  might  help 
to  preserve  them  from  a  life  of  sin,  yet  their  hearts  are  at 
the  very  time  polluted  by  scenes  and  descriptions  which  are 
too  likely  to  plunge  them  into  it;  and  when  their  vain  weak 
heads  compare  the  soft  and  delicious  lives  of  the  heroines  in 
the  book,  with  their  own  mean  garb  and  hard  labor,  the 
effect  is  obvious ;  and  I  think  I  do  not  go  too  far  when  I 
say,  that  the  vain  and  showy  manner  in  which  young 
women,  who  have  to  work  for  their  bread,  have  taken  to 
dress  themselves,  added  to  the  poison  they  draw  from  these 
books,  contribute  together  to  bring  them  to  destruction, 
more  than  almost  any  other  cause.,  Now  tell  me,  do  not 
you  think  these  wild  books  will  hurt  your  daughters? 

Bragwell.  Why  I  do  think  they  are  grown  full  of 
schemes,  and  contrivances  and  whispers,  that's  the  truth 
ou't.  Every  think  is  a  secret.  They  always  seem  to  be 
on  the  look-out  for  something:,  and  when  nothing:  comes 
on't,  then  they  are  sulky  and  disappointed.  They  will  keep 
company  with  their  equals;  they  despise  trade  and  finn- 
ing ;  and  I  own  I'm  for  the  stuff.  I  should  not  like  them 
to  marry  any  but  a  man  of  substance,  if  lie  was  ever  so 
smart.  Now  they  will  hardly  sit  down  with  a  substa 
country  dealer.  But  if  they  hear  of  a  recruiting  party  in 
our  market-town,  on  goes  tho  finery — oft'  they  are.  Some 
flimsy  excuse  is  patched  up.  They  want  something  at  the 
book-shop  or  the  milliner's  ;  because,  I  suppose,  there  is  a 


294  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

chance  that  some  Jack-a-napes  of  an  ensign  may  be  there 
buying  sticking  plaster.  In  .short,  I  do  grow  a  little  un- 
easy ;  for  I  should  not  like  to  see  all  I  have  saved  thrown 
away  on  a  knapsack. 

So  saying,  they  both  rose  and  walked  out  to  view  the  farm. 
Mr.  Bragwell  affected  greatly  to  admire  the  good  order  of 
every  thing  he  saw ;  but  never  forgot  to  compare  it  with 
something  larger,  aud  handsomer,  or  better  of  his  own.  It 
was  easy  to  see  that  self  was  his  standard  of  perfection  in 
every  thing.  All  he  himself  possessed  gained  some  in- 
creased value  in  his  eyes  from  being  his ;  and  in  surveying 
the  property  of  his  fiiend,  he  derived  food  for  his  vanity, 
from  things  which  seemed  least  likely  to  raise  it.  Every 
appearance  of  comfort,  of  success,  of  merit,  in  any  thing 
which  belonged  to  Mr.  Worthy  led  him  to  speak  of  some 
superior  advantage  of  his  own  of  the  same  kind  ;  and  it  was 
clear  that  the  chief  part  of  the  satisfaction  he  felt  in  walking 
over  the  farm  of  his  Mend,  was  caused  by  thinking  how 
much  larger  his  own  was. 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  felt  a  kindness  for  him,  which  all  his 
vanity  could  not  cure,  was  always  on  the  watch  how  to  turn 
their  talk  on  some  useful  point.  And  whenever  people  re- 
solve to  go  in  o  company  with  this  view,  it  is  commonly 
their  own  fault,  if  some  opportunity  of  turning  it  to  account 
does  not  offer. 

He  saw  Bragwell  was  intoxicated  with  pride,  and  undone 
by  success ;  and  that  his  family  was  in  the  high  road  to 
ruiu  through  mere  prosperity.  lie  thought,  that  if  some 
means  could  be  found  to  open  his  eyes  on  his  own  charac- 
ter, to  which  he  was  now  totally  blind,  it  might  be  of  the 
utmost  service  to  him.  The  more  Mr.  Worthy  reflected, 
the  more  he  wished  to  undertake  the  kind  office.  He  was 
not  sure  that  Mr.  Bragwell  would  bear  it,  but  he  was  very 
sure  it  was  his  duty  to  attempt  it.     As  Mr.  Worthy  was 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.    BRiGWELl.      295 

very  humble  himself,  he  had  great  patience  and  forbearance 
with  the  faults  of  others.  He  felt  no  pride  at  having  es- 
caped the  errors  into  which  they  had  fallen,  for  he  knew 
who  it  was  had  made  him  to  differ.  lie  remembered  that 
God  had  given  him  many  advantages;  a  pious  father  aud 
a  religious  education  :  this  made  him  humble  under  a  sense 
of  his  own  sins,  and  charitable  toward  the  sins  of  others, 
who  had  not  the  same  privileges. 

Just  as  he  was  going  to  try  to  enter  into  a  very  serious 
conversation  with  his  guest,  he  was  stopped  by  the  appear- 
ance of  his  daughter,  who  told  them  supper  was  ready. 
This  interruption  obliges  me  to  break  off  also,  and  I  shall 
reserve  what  follows  to  the  nexth  month,  when  I  promise 
to  give  my  readers  the  second  part  of  this  history. 


PART    II. 


A     CONVERSATION. 


Soon  after  supper  Mrs.  Worthy  left  the  room  with  her 
daughters,  at  her  husband's  desire  ;  for  it  was  his  intention 
to  speak  more  plainly  to  Bragwell  than  was  likely  to  be 
agreeable  to  him  to  hear  before  others.  The  two  farmers 
being  seated  at  their  little  table,  each  in  a  handsome  old- 
fashioned  great  chair,  IJragwell  began  : 

"  It  is  a  great  comfort,  neighbor  Worthy,  at  a  certain 
time  of  life  to  be  gol  above  the  world:  my  notion  is,  that 
a  man  should  labor  bard  the  first  part  of  his  days,  that  he 
may  then  sit  down  and  enjoy  himself  the  rem  tin  ler.  Now, 
though  I  hate  boasting,  yet  as  you  are  my  oldest  friend,  I 
am  about  to  open  my  heart  to  you.     Let  me  tell  you  then 


29G  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

I  reckon  I  have  worked  as  hard  as  any  man  in  my  time, 
and  that  I  now  begin  to  think  I  have  a  right,  to  indulge  a 
little.  I  have  got  my  money  with  character,  and  I  mean 
to  spend  it  with  credit.  I  pay  every  one  his  own,  I  set  a 
good  example,  I  keep  to  my  church,  I  serve  God,  I  honor 
the  king,  and  I  obey  the  laws  of  the  land." 

"This  is  doing  a  great  deal  indeed,"  replied  Mr.  Worthy  ; 
"  but,"  added  he,  "  I  doubt  that  more  goes  to  the  making 
up  all  these  duties  than  men  are  commonly  aware  of.  Sup- 
pose then  that  you  and  I  talk  the  matter  over  coolly ;  we 
have  the  evening  before  us.  What  if  we  sit  down  together 
as  two  friends  and  examine  one  another." 

Bragwell,  who  loved  argument,  and  who  was  not  a  little 
vain  both  of  his  sense  and  his  morality,  accepted  the  chal- 
lenge, and  gave  his  word  that  he  would  take  in  good  part 
any  thing  that  should  be  said  to  him.  Worthy  was  about 
to  proceed,  when  Bragwell  interrupted  him  for  a  moment, 
by  saying,  "  But  stop,  friend,  before  we  begin  I  wish  you 
would  remember  that  we  have  had  a  long  walk,  and  I  want 
a  little  refreshment;  have  you  no  liquor  that  is  stronger 
than  this  cider  ?  I  am  afraid  it  will  g-ive  me  a  fit  of  the 
gout." 

Mr.  Worthy  immediately  produced  a  bottle  of  wine,  and 
another  of  spirits ;  saying,  that  though  he  drank  neither 
spirits  nor  even  wine  himself,  yet  his  wife  always  kept 
a  little  of  each  as  a  provision  in  case  of  sickness  or  ac- 
cidents. 

Farmer  Bragwell  preferred  the  brandy,  and  began  to 
taste  it.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  this  is  no  better  than  English  ; 
I  always  use  foreign  myself."  "I  bought  this  for  foreign," 
said  Mr.  Worthy.  "No,  no,  it  is  English  spirits,  I  assure 
you ;  but  I  can  put  you  into  a  way  to  get  foreign  nearly  as 
cheap  as  English."  Mr.  Worthy  replied  that  he  thought 
that  was  impossible. 


OR,    THE     HISTORY    OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       297 

Bragwell.  Oh  no  ;  there  are  ways  and  means — a  word 
to  the  wise — {here  is  an  acquaintance  of  mine  that  lives 
upon  the  south  coast — you  are  a  particular  friend  and  I  will 
get  you  half-a-dozen  gallons  for  a  trifle. 

Worthy.  Not  if  it  be  smuggled,  Mr.  Bragwell,  though  I 
should  get  it  for  sixpence  a  bottle.  "Ask  no  questions," 
said  the  other,  "I  never  say  any  thing  to  any  one,  and  who 
is  the  wiser  V  "  And  so  this  is  your  way  of  obeying  the 
laws  of  the  land,"  said  Mr.  Worthy,  "  here  is  a  fine  speci- 
men of  your  morality." 

Bragwell.  Come,  come,  don't  make  a  fuss  about  trifles. 
If  every  one  d"id  it  indeed  it  would  be  another  thing  ;  hut 
as  to  my  getting  a  little  good  brandy  cheap,  why  that  can't 
hurt  the  revenue  much. 

Worthy.  Pray  Mr.  Bragwell,  what  should  you  think  of  a 
man  who  would  dip  his  hand  into  a  bag  and  take  out  a  few 
guineas  ? 

Bragwell.  Think  ?  why  I  think  that  he  should  be  hanged, 
to  be  sure. 

Worthy.  But  suppose  that  bag  stool  in  the  king's 
treasury  ? 

Bragwell.  In  the  king's  treasury!  worse  and  worse! 
What!  rob  the  king's  treasury!  Well,  I  hope  if  any  one 
has  done  it,  the  robber  will  be  taken  up  and  executed  ;  for 
I  suppose  we  shall  be  taxed  to  pay  the  damage. 

Worthy.  Very  true.  If  one  man  takes  money  out  of 
the  treasury,  others  must  be  obliged  to  pay  the  more  into  it. 
But  what  think  you  if  the  fellow  should  be  found  to  have 
stopped  some  money  in  its  way  to  the  treasury,  instead  of 
taking  it  out  of  the  hair  after  it  got  there? 

3  &  CD 

llragvoell.  Cuilty,  Mr.  Worthy  ;  it  is  all  the  sain.'  in  my 
opinion.  If  1  were  judge  I  would  hang  him  without  benefit 
of  clergy. 

Worthy.  Hark  ye,  Mr.  Bragwell,  he  that  deals  in  sniug< 

13* 


298 

glel  brandy  is  the  man  who  takes  to  himself  the  king's 
money  in  its  way  to  the  treasury,  and  he  as  much  robs  the 
government  as  if  lie  dipped  his  han  Is  into  a  bag  of  guineas 
in  the  treasury  chamber.  It  comes  to  the  same  thing 
exactly.  Here  Bragwell  seemed  a  little  offended,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  What,  Mr.  Worthy  !  do  you  pretend  to  say  I  am 
not  an  honest  man  because  I  like  to  get  my  brandy  as 
cheap  as  I  can  ?  and  because  I  like  to  save  a  shilling  to  my 
family1?  Sir,  I  repeat  it ;  I  do  my  duty  to  God  and  my 
neighbor.  I  say  the  Lord's  prayer  most  days,  I  go  to 
church  on  Sundays,  I  repeat  my  creed,  and  keep  the  ten 
commandments ;  and  though  I  now  and  then  get  a  little 
brandy  cheap,  yet  upon  the  whole,  I  will  venture  to  say,  I 
do  as  much  as  can  be  expected  of  any  man,  and  more  than 
the  generality." 

Worthy.  Come  then,  since  you  say  you  keep  the  com- 
mandments, you  can  not  be  offended  if  I  ask  you  whether 
you  understand  them. 

Bragwell.  To  be  sure  I  do.  I  dare  say  I  do :  look  ye, 
Mr.  Worthy,  I  don't  pretend  to  much  reading,  I  was  not 
bred  to  it  as  you  were.  If  my  father  had  been  a  parson,  I 
fancy  I  should  have  made  as  good  a  figure  as  some  other 
folks,  but  I  hope  good  sense  and  a  good  heart  may  teach  a 
mau  his  duty  without  much  scholarship. 

Worthy.  To  come  to  the  point ;  let  us  now  go  through 
the  ten  commandments,  and  let  us  take  along  with  us  those 
explanations  of  them  which  our  Saviour  gave  us  in  his  ser- 
mon on  the  mount. 

Bragwell.  Sermon  on  the   mount !  why  the  ten  com 
m andments  are  in  the   20th  chapter  of  Exodus.     Come, 
come,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  know  where  to   find  the  command- 
ments as  well  as  you  do ;  for  it  happens  that  I  am  church- 
warden, and  I  can  see  from  the  altar-piece  where  the  ten 


OR,    THE     HISTORY    OF    MR.     BRAGWELL.       299 

commandments  are,  without  your  telling  me,  for  my  pew 
directly  faces  ik 

Worthy.  But  I  advise  you  to  read  the  sermon  on  the 
mount,  that  you  may  see  the  full  meaning  of  them. 

Bragwell.  What !  do  you  want  to  make  me  helieve 
there  are  two  ways  of  keeping  the  commandments  ? 

Worthy.  No  ;  hut  there  may  he  two  ways  of  under- 
standing them. 

Bragwell.  Well,  I  am  not  afraid  to  he  put  to  the  proof ; 
I  defy  any  man  to  say  I  do  not  keep  at  least  all  the  four 
first  that  are  on  the  left  side  of  the  altar-piece. 

Worthy.  If  you  can  prove  that,  I  shall  be  more  ready 
to  believe  you  ohservre  those  of  the  other  table  ;  for  he  who 
does  his  duty  to  God,  will  be  likely  to  do  his  duty  to  his 
neighbor  also. 

Bragwell.  What !  do  you  think  that  I  serve  two  Gods  ? 
Do  you  think  then  that  I  make  graven  images,  and  wor- 
ship stocks  or  stones  ?  Do  you  take  me  for  a  rjapist  or  an 
idolater  ? 

Worthy.  Don't  triumph  quite  so  soon,  Master  Bragwell. 
Pray  is  there  nothing  in  the  world  you  prefer  to  God,  and 
thus  make  an  idol  of?  Do  you  not  love  your  money,  or 
your  lands,  or  your  crops,  or  your  cattle,  or  your  own  will, 
or  your  own  way,  rather  better  than  you  love  God  ?  Do 
you  never  think  of  these  with  more  pleasure  than  you 
think  of  him,  and  follow  them  more  eagerly  than  your  re- 
ligious duty  ? 

Bragwell.  Oh !  there's  nothing  about  that  in  the  20th 
chapter  of  Exodus. 

Worthy.  But  Jesus  Christ  has  said,  "  He  that  loveth 
father  or  mother  more  than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me." 
Now  it  is  certainly  a  man's  duty  to  love  lii-  father  and  his 
mother ;  nay,  it  would  he  wicked  not  to  love  them,  and  yet 
we  must  not  love  even  these  more  than  our  Creator  and  our 


300  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

Saviour.     Well,  I  think  on  this  principle,  your  heart  pleads 

guilty  to  the  breach  of  the  first  and  second  commandments  5 
lei  us  proceed  to  the  third. 

Bragwell.  That  is  about  swearing,  is  it  not  ? 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  had  observed  Bragwell  guilty  of  much 
profaneness  in  using  the  name  of  his  Maker  (1  hough  all 
such  offensive  words  have  been  avoided  in  writing  this  his- 
tory), now  told  him  that  he  had  been  waiting  the  whole 
day  for  an  opportunity  to  reprove  him  for  his  frequent 
breach  of  the  third  commandment. 

"  Good  L — d  !  I  break  the  third  commandment !"  said 
Bragwell ;  "  no  indeed,  hardly  ever  ;  I  once  used  to  swear  a 
little,  to  be  sure,  but  I  vow  I  never  do  it  now,  except  now 
and  then  when  I  happen  to  be  in  a  passion  :  and  in  such  a 
case,  why,  good  G — d,  you  know  the  sin  is  with  those  who 
provoke  me,  and  not  with  me  ;  but  upon  my  soul,  1  don't 
think  I  have  sworn  an  oath  these  three  months ;  no,  not  I, 
faith,  as  I  hope  to  be  saved." 

Worthy.  And  yet  you  have  broken  this  holy  law  not 
less  than  five  or  six  times  in  the  last  speech  you  have 
made. 

Bragwell.  Lord  bless  me  !  Sure  you  mistake.  Good 
heavens,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  call  G — d  to  witness,  I  have  neither 
cursed  nor  swore  since  I  have  been  in  the  house. 

Worthy.  Mr.  Bragwell,  this  is  the  way  in  which  many 
who  call  themselves  very  good  sort  of  people  deceive  them- 
selves. What !  is  it  no  profanation  of  the  name  of  your 
Maker  to  use  it  lightly,  irreverently  and  familiarly  as  you 
have  done  ?  Our  Saviour  has  not  only  told  us  not  to  swear 
by  the  immediate  name  of  God,  but  he  has  said,  "swear 
not  at  all,  neither  by  heaven  nor  by  the  earth,"  and  in  order 
to  hinder  our  inventing  any  other  irreligious  exclamations 
or  expressions,  he  has  even  added,  "  but  let  your  communi- 
cations be  yea,  yea,  and  nay,  nay ;  for  whatsoever  is  more 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.    BRAOWELL.       301 

than  this  simple  affirmation  and  denial  cometh  of  evil." 
Nay,  more,  so  greatly  do  I  reverence  that  high  and  holy 
name,  that  I  think  even  some  good  people  have  it  too  fre- 
quently in  their  mouths ;  and  that  they  might  convey  the 
idea  without  the  word. 

Bragwell.  Well,  well,  T  must  take  a  little  more  care,  I 
believe.  I  vow  to  heaven  I  did  not  know  there  had  been 
so  much  harm  in  it;  but  my  daughters  seldom  speak  with- 
out using  some  of  these  words,  and  yet  they  wanted  to 
make  me  believe  the  other  day  that  it  was  monstrous  vulgar 
to  swear. 

Worthy.  Women,  even  gentlewomen,  who  ought  to  cor- 
rect this  evil  habit  in  their  fathers,  an  1  husbands,  and  chil- 
dren, are  too  apt  to  encourage  it  by  their  own  practice. 
And  indeed  they  betray  the  profaneness  of  their  own  minds 
also  by  it ;  for  none  who  venerate  the  holy  name  of  God, 
can  either  profane  in  this  manner  themselves,  or  hear  others 
do  so  without  being  exceedingly  pained  at  it. 

Bragwell.  Well,  since  you  are  so  hard  upon  me,  I  be- 
h<  ve  I  must  e'en  give  up  this  point — so  1";  us  pass  on  to 
the  next,  and  here  1  tread  upon  sure  ground  ;  lor  as  sharp 
as  you  are  upon  me,  you  can't  accuse  me  of  being  a  Sab- 
bath breaker,  since  I  go  to  church  every  Sunday  of  my  life, 
unless  on  some  very  extraordinary  occasion. 

Worthy.  For  those  occasions  the  gospel  allows,  by  say- 
ing, ''the  Sabbath  was  made  for  man,  and  not  man  tor  the 
Sabbath."  Our  own  sickness,  or  attending  ou  the  sickness 
of  others,  are  lawful  impediments. 

Bragwell.  Yes,  and  I  am  now  and  then  obliged  to  lo  k 
at  a  drove  of  beasts,  or  to  go  a  journey,  or  take  some  me  ,  i- 
cine,  or  perhaps  s<  >me  friend  may  call  upon  me,  or  it  may 
be  very  cold,  or  very  hot,  or  very  rainy. 

Worthy.  Poor  excuse  !  Mr.  Bragwell.  Do  you  call  these 
lawful  impediments  ?    I  am  afraid  thev  will  not  pass  for  such 


302  TUE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

on  the  day  of  judgment.     But  how  is  the  rest  of  your  Sun- 
day spent  ? 

Bragwell.  O,  why,  I  assure  you  I  often  go  to  church  in 
the  afternoon  also,  and  even  if  I  am  ever  so  sleepy. 

Worthy.  And  so  you  finish  your  nap  at  church,  I  sup- 
pose. 

Brag  well.  Why,  as  to  that,  to  be  sure  we  do  contrive  to 
have  something  a  little  nicer  than  common  for  dinner  on  a 
Sunday :  in  consequence  of  which  one  eats,  you  know,  a 
little  more  than  ordinary ;  aud  having  nothing  to  do  on 
that  day,  has  more  leisure  to  take  a  cheerful  glass  ;  and  all 
these  things  will  make  one  a  little  heavy,  you  know. 

Worthy.  And  don't  you  take  a  little  ride  in  the  morning, 
and  look  at  your  sheep  when  the  weather  is  good  ;  and  so 
fill  your  mind  just  before  you  go  to  church  with  thoughts 
of  them ;  and  Avhen  the  weather  is  bad,  don't  you  settle  an 
account?  or  write  a  few  letters  of  business  after  church. 

Bragwell.  I  can't  say  but  I  do ;  but  that  is  nothing  to 
any  body,  as  long  as  I  set  a  good  example  by  keeping  to 
my  church. 

Worthy.  And  how  do  you  pass  your  Sunday  evenings  ? 

Bragwell.  My  wife  aud  daughters  go  a  visiting  Sunday 
afternoons.  My  daughters  are  glad  to  get  out,  at  any  rate  ; 
and  as  to  my  wife,  she  says  that  being  ready  dressed,  it  is  a 
pity  to  lose  the  opportunity  ;  besides,  it  saves  her  time  on  a 
week  day  ;  so  then  you  see  I  have  it  all  my  own  way,  and 
when  I  have  got  rid  of  the  ladies,  who  are  ready  to  faint  at 
the  smell  of  tobacco,  T  can  venture  to  smoke  a  pipe,  and 
drink  a  sober  glass  of  punch  with  half  a  dozen  friends. 

Worthy.  Which  punch,  being  made  of  smuggled  brandy, 
and  drank  on  the  Lord's  day,  and  very  vain,  as  well  as 
profane  and  worldly  company,  you  are  enabled  to  break 
both  the  law  of  God,  and  that  of  your  country  at  a  stroke  : 
and  I  suppose  when  you  are  got  together,  you  speak  of  your 


OR,     THE     HISTORY    OF    MR.     BRAG  WELL.       303 

cattle,  or  of  your  crops,  after  which  perhaps  you  talk  over 
a  few  of  your  neighbors'  faults,  and  then  you  brag  a  little 
of  your  own  wealth  or  your  own  achievements. 

B rag well.  Why,  you  seem  to  know  us  so  well,  that  any 
one  would  think  you  had  been  sitting  behind  the  curtain  ; 
and  yet  you  are  a  little  mistaken  too ;  for  I  think  we  have 
hardly  said  a  word  for  several  of  our  last  Sundays  on  any 
thing  but  politics. 

Worthy.  And  do  you  find  that  you  much  improve  your 
Christian  charity  by  that  subject? 

Bragwell.  Why  to  be  sure  we  do  quarrel  till  we  are  veiy 
near  fi»-hti:i<>f,  that  is  the  worst  on't. 

Worthy.  And  then  you  call  names,  and  swear  a  little,  I 
suppose. 

Bragwell.  Why  when  one  is  contradicted  and  put  in  a 
passion,  you  know,  and  when  people  especially  if  they  are  one's 
inferiors,  won't  adopt  one's  opinions,  flesh  and  blood  won't 
bear  it. 

Worthy.  And  when  all  your  friends  are  gone  home,  what 
becomes  of  the  rest  of  the  evening? 

Bragwell.  That  is  just  as  it  happens ;  sometimes  I  read 
the  newspaper;  and  as  one  is  generally  most  tired  on  the 
days  one  does  nothing,  I  go  to  bed  earlier  on  Sundays  than 
on  other  days,  that  I  may  bemore  fit  to  get  up  to  my  busi- 
ness the  next  morning. 

Worthy.  So  you  shorten  Sunday  as  much  as  you  can,  by 
cutting  off  a  bit  at  both  ends,  I  suppose  ;  for  I  take  it  for 
granted  you  lie  a  little  later  in  the  morning. 

Bragwell.  Come,  come,  we  sha'n't  get  through  the  whole 
ten  to-night,  if  you  stand  snubbing  one  at  this  rate.  You 
may  pass  over  the  fifth  ;  for  my  father  and  mother  have 
been  dead  ever  since  I  was  a  boy,  so  I  am  clear  of  that 
scrape 

Worthy.  There  are,  however,  many  relative   duties  in- 


304  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

eluded  in  that  commandment;  unkindness  to  all  kindred  is 
forbidden. 

Brag  well.  O,  if  you  mean  my  turning  off  my  nephew 
Tom,  the  plowboy,  you  must  not  blame  me  for  that,  it 
was  all  my  wife's  fault.  He  was  as  good  a  lad  as  ever  lived 
to  be  sure,  and  my  own  brother's  son ;  but  my  wife  could 
not  bear  that  a  boy  in  a  carter's  frock  should  be  about  the 
house,  calling  her  aunt.  We  quarreled  like  dog  and  cat 
about  it ;  and  when  he  was  turned  away  she  and  I  did  not 
speak  for  a  week. 

Worthy.  Which  was  a  fresh  breach  of  the  command- 
ment ;  a  worthy  nephew  turned  out  of  doors,  and  a  wife 
not  spoken  to  for  a  week,  are  no  very  convincing  proofs  of 
your  observance  of  the  fifth  commandment. 

Bragwell.  Well,  I  long  to  come  to  the  sixth,  for  you  don't 
think  I  commit  murder,  I  hope. 

Worthy.  I  am  not,  sure  of  that. 

Bragwell.  Murder  !  what,  I  kill  any  body  ? 

Worthy.  Why,  the  laws  of  the  land,  indeed,  and  the 
disgrace  attending  it,  are  almost  enough  to  keep  any  man 
from  actual  murder  ;  let  me  ask,  however,  do  you  nevei 
give  way  to  unjust  anger,  and  passion,  and  revenge  ?  as  for 
instance,  do  you  never  feel  your  resentment  kiudle  against 
some  of  the  politicians  who  contradict  you  on  a  Sunday 
night  ?  and  do  you  never  push  your  animosity  against  some- 
body that  has  affronted  you,  further  than  the  occasion  can 
justify  ? 

Bragwell.  Ilark'ee,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  am  a  man  of  sub- 
Btance,  and  no  man  shall  offend  me  without  my  being  even 
with  him.  So  as  to  injuring  a  man,  if  he  affronts  me  first, 
there's  nothing  but  o-ood  reason  in  that. 

Worthy.  Very  well  !  only  bear  in  mind,  that  you  will- 
fully break  this  commandment,  whether  you  abuse  your  serv- 
ant, are  angry  at  your  wife,  watch  for  a  moment  to  revenge 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAG  WELL.       305 

an  injury  on  your  neighbor,  or  even  wreak  your  passion  on 
a  harmless  beast';  for  you  have  then  the  seeds  of  murder 
working  in  your  breast ;  and  if  there  were  no  law,  no  gib- 
bet, to  check  you,  and  no  fear  of  disgrace  neither,  I  am  not 
sure  wher/"  _,ou  would  stop. 

Bragxull.  Why,  Mr.  Worthy,  you  have  a  strange  way 
of  explaining  the  commandments ;  so  you  set  me  down  for 
a  murderer,  merely  because  I  bear  hatred  to  a  man  who  has 
done  me  a  hurt,  and  sm  glad  to  do  him  a  like  injury  in  my 
turn.     I  am  sure  I  cijould  want  spirit  if  I  did  not. 

Worthy.  I  go  by  the  Scripture  rule,  which  says,  "  he 
that  hateth  his  brother  k  a  murderer,"  and  again,  "  pray 
for  them  that  despitefulh  4§e  you  and  persecute  you."  Be- 
sides, Mr.  Bragwell,  you  made  it  a  part  of  your  boast  that 
you  said  the  Lord's  prayer  every  day,  wherein  you  pray  to 
God  to  forgive  you  your  trespasses  as  you  forgive  them  that 
trespass  against  you.  If  therefore  you  do  not  forgive  them 
that  trespass  against  you,  in  that  case  you  daily  pray  that 
your  own  trespasses  may  never  be  forgiven.  Now  own  the 
truth  ;  did  you  last  night  lie  down  in  a  spirit  of  forgiveness 
and  charity  with  the  whole  world  ? 

Bragwell.  Yes,  I  am  in  charity  with  the  whole  world  in 
general ;  because  the  greater  part  of  it  has  never  done  me 
any  harm.  But  I  won't  forgive  old  Giles,  who  broke  down 
my  new  hedge  yesterday  for  firing — Giles,  who  used  to  be 
so  honest. 

Worthy.  And  yet  you  expect  that  God  will  forgive  you 
who  have  broken  down  his  sacreds  laws,  and  have  so  often 
robbed  him  of  his  right — you  have  robbed  him  of  the  hon- 
or due  unto  his  name — you  have  robbed  him  of  his  holy  day 
bv  doing  your  own  work,  and  finding  your  own  pleasure  in 
it — you  have  robbed  his  poor,  particularly  in  the  instance  ■  I 
Giles,by  withholding  from  them,  as  overseer,  such  assistance 
as  should  prevent  their  being  driven  to  the  sin  of  stealing. 


306  THE    TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS, 

Bragwell.  Why,  you  are  now  charging  ine  with  other 
men's  sins  as  well  as  my  own. 

Worthy.  Perhaps  the  sins  which  we  cause  other  men  to 
commit,  through  injustice,  in  consideration,  and  evil  exam- 
ple, may  dreadfully  swell  the  sum  of  our  responsibility  in 
the  great  day  of  account. 

Bragwell.  Well,  come,  let  us  make  haste  and  get  through 
these  commaudments.  The  next  is,  "  Thou  shalt  not  com- 
mit adultery."  Thank  God,  neither  I  nor  my  family  can  he 
said  to  break  the  seventh  commandment. 

Wbrthy.  Here  again,  remember  how  Christ  himself  hath 
said,  "  whoso  looketh  on  a  woman  to  lust  after  her,  hath 
already  committed  adultery  with  her  in  his  heart."  These 
are  no  far-fetched  expressions  of  mine,  Mr.  Bragwell,  they  are 
the  words  of  Jesus  Christ.  I  hope  you  will  not  charge  him 
with  having  carrried  this  too  far ;  for  if  you  do,  you  charge 
him  with  being  mistaken  in  the  religion  he  taught ;  and  this 
can   only  be  accounted  for,  by  supposing  him  an  impostor. 

Bragwell.  Why,  upon  my  word,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  don't 
like  these  sayings  of  his  which  you  quote  upon  me  so  often, 
and  that  is  the  truth  of  it,  and  I  can't  say  I  feel  much  dis- 
posed to  believe  them. 

Worthy.  I  hope  you  believe  in  Jesus  Christ.  I  hope 
you  believe  that  creed  of  yours,  which  you  also  boasted  of 
repeating  so  regularly. 

Bragwell.  Well,  well,  I'll  believe  any  thing  you  say,  ra- 
ther than  stand  quarreling  with  you. 

Worthy.  I  hope  then,  you  will  allow,  that  since  it  is 
adultery  to  look  at  a  woman  with  even  an  irregular  thought, 
it  follows  from  the  same  rule,  that  all  immodest  dress  in 
your  daughters,  or  indecent  jests  and  double  meanings  in 
yourself;  all  loose  songs  or  novels  ;  and  all  diversions  also 
which  have  a  like  dangerous  tendency,  are  forbidden  by  the 
seventh  commandment ;   for  it  is  most   plain   from  what 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF    MR.     BRAGWELL. 


307 


Christ  Las  said,  that  it  takes  in  not  only  the  act,  but  the  in- 
clination, the  desire,  the  indulged  imagination  ;  (he  act  is 
only  the  last  and  highest  degree  of  any  sin  ;  the  topmost 
round,  as  it  were,  of  a  ladder,  to  which  all  the  lower  rounds 
are  only  as  so  many  steps  and  stages. 

Brag  well.  Strict  indeed  !  Mr.  Worthy  ;  but  let  us  go  on 
to  the  next ;  you  won't  pretend  to  say  /  steal ;  Mr.  Brag- 
well,  I  trust,  was  never  known  to  rob  on  the  highway,  to 
break  open  his  neighbor's  house,  or  to  use  false  weights  or 
measures. 

Worthy.  No,  nor  have  you  ever  been  under  any  tempta- 
tion to  do  it,  and  yet  there  are  a  thousand  ways  of  break- 
ing the  eighth  commandment  besides  actual  stealing.  For 
instance  do  you  never  hide  the  faults  of  the  goods  you  sell, 
and  heighten  the  faults  of  those  you  buy  ?  Do  you  never 
take  advantage  of  an  ignorant  dealer,  and  ask  more  for  a 
thine:  than  it  is  worth  ?  Do  vou  never  turn  the  distressed 
circumstances  of  a  man  who  has  something  to  sell,  to  your 
unfair  benefit ;  and  thus  act  as  unjustly  by  him  as  if  you 
had  stolen  ?  Do  you  never  cut  off  a  shilling  from  a  work- 
man's wages,  under  the  pretense  which  your  conscience 
can't  justify  ?  Do  you  never  pass  off  an  unsound  horse  for  a 
sound  one  ?  Do  you  never  conceal  the  real  rent  of  your 
estate  from  the  overseers,  and  thereby  rob  the  poor-rates  of 
their  legal  due  ? 

Bragwell.  Pooh !  these  things  are  done  every  day.  I 
sha'n't  go  to  set  up  for  being  better  than  my  neighbors  in 
these  sort  of  things;  these  little  matters  will  pass  muster — ■ 
I  don't  set  up  for  a  reformer — if  1  am  as  good  as  the 
rest  of  my  neighbors,  no  man  can  call  me  to  account:  I  am 
not  worse,  I  trust,  and  don't  proton  I  to  be  better. 

Worthy.  You  must  be  tried  hereafter  at  the  bar  of  (Jod, 
and  not  by  a  jury  of  your  fellow-creatures;  and  the  Scrip- 
tures are  given  us,  in  order  to  show  by  what  rule  we  shall 


308  THE    TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

be  judged.  How  many  or  how  few  do  as  you  do,  is  quite 
aside  from  the  question  ;  Jesus  Christ  has  even  told  us  to 
strive  to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate;  so  we  ought  rather  to  take 
fright,  from  our  being  like  the  common  run  of  people,  than 
to  take  comfort  from  our  being  so. 

Bragwell.  Come,  1  don't  like  all  this  close  work — it 
makes  a  man  feel  I  don't  know  how — I  don't  find  myself  so 
happy  as  I  did — I  don't  like  this  fishing  in  troubled  waters  ; 
I'm  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long  when  I  let  these  things 
alone.  I'm  glad  we  are  got  to  the  ninth.  But  I  suppose  I 
shall  be  lugged  in  there  too,  head  and  shoulders.  Anyone 
now  who  did  not  know  me,  would  really  think  I  was  a  great 
sinner,  by  your  way  of  putting  things ;  I  don't  bear  false 
witness,  however. 

Worthy.  You  mean,  I  suppose,  you  would  not  swear 
away  any  man's  life  falsely  before  a  magistrate,  but  do  you 
take  equal  care  not  to  slander  or  backbite  him  ?  Do  you 
never  represent  a  good  action  of  a  man  you  have  quarreled 
with,  as  if  it  were  a  bad  one  ?  or  do  you  never  make  a  bad 
one  worse  than  it  is,  by  your  manner  of  telling  it  ?  Even 
when  you  invent  no  false  circumstances,  do  you  never  give 
such  a  color  to  those  you  relate,  as  to  leave  a  false  impres- 
sion on  the  mind  of  the  hearers  ?  Do  you  never  twist  a 
story  so  as  to  make  it  tell  a  little  better  for  yourself,  and  a 
little  worse  for  your  neighbor,  than  truth  and  justice  war- 
rant? 

Bragwell.  Why,  as  to  that  matter,  all  this  is  only  natural. 

Worth/.  Ay,  much  too  natural  to  be  right,  I  doubt. 
Well,  now  we  have  got  to  the  last  of  the  commandments. 

Bragwell.  Yes,  I  have  run  the  gauntlet  finely  through  them 
all ;  you  will  bring  me  in  guilty  here,  I  suppose,  for  the 
pleasure  of  going  through  with  it ;  for  you  condemn  with- 
out judge  or  jury,  Master  Worthy. 

Worthy.  The  culprit,  I  think,  has  hitherto  pleaded  guilty 


OR,     THE    HISTORY    OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       309 

to  the  evidence  brought  against  him.  The  tenth  command- 
ment, however,  goes  to  the  root  and  principle  of  evil,  it  dives 
to  the  bottom  of  things ;  this  command  checks  the  first 
rising  of  sin  in  the  heart ;  teaches  us  to  strangle  it  in  the 
birth,  as  it  were,  before  it  breaks  out  in  those  acts  which 
are  forbidden  :  as,  for  instance,  every  man  covets  before  he 
proceeds  to  steal ;  nay,  many  covet,  knowing  they  can  do  it 
with  impunity,  who  dare  not  steal,  lest  they  should  suffer 
for  it. 

Bragwell.  Why,  look'ee,  Mr.  Worthy,  I  don't  understand 
these  new  fashioned  explanations ;  one  should  not  have  a 
grain  of  sheer  goodness  left,  if  every  thing  one  does  is  to  be 
fritted  away  at  this  rate.  I  am  not,  I  own,  quite  so  good  as 
I  thought,  but  if  what  you  say  were  true,  I  should  be  so 
miserable,  I  should  not  know  what  to  do  with  myself. 
Why,  I  tell  you  all  the  world  may  be  said  to  break  the  com- 
mandments at  this  rate. 

Worthy.  Very  true.  All  the  world,  and  I  myself  also, 
are  but  too  apt  to  break  them,  if  not  in  the  letter,  at  least 
in  the  spirit  of  them.  Why,  then,  all  the  world  are  (as  the 
Scripture  expresses  it)  "guilty  before  God."  And  if  guilty, 
they  should  own  they  are  guilty,  and  not  stand  up  and  just- 
ify themselves,  as  you  do,  Mr.  Bragwell. 

Bragwell.  Well,  according  to  my  notion,  I  am  a  very 
honest  man,  and  honesty  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  all  re- 
ligion, say  I. 

Worth;/.  All  truth,  honesty,  justice,  order,  and  obedience 
grow  out  of  the  Christian  religion.  The  true  Christian 
acts  at  all  times,  and  on  all  occasions,  from  the  pure  and 
spiritual  principle  of  love  to  God  and  Christ.  On  this 
principle  he  is  uprighl  in  his  dealings,  true  to  his  word, 
kind  to  flu'  poor,  helpful  to  the  oppressed.  In  short,  if  lie 
truly  loves  God,  he  must  do  jus!  ice,  and  canH  help  loving 
mercy.     Christianity  is  a  uniform  consistent  thing.     It  doea 


310  THE    TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

not  allow  us  to  make  up  for  the  breach  of  one  part  of  God's 
law,  by  our  strictness  in  observing  another.  There  is  no 
sponge  in  one  duty,  that  c;m  wipe  out  the  spot  of  another 
sin. 

Bragwell.  Well,  but  at  this  rate,  I  should  be  always  puz- 
zling and  blunderingf,  and  should  never  know  for  certain 
whether  I  was  right  or  not ;  whereas  I  am  now  quite  satis- 
fied with  myself,  and  have  no  doubts  to  torment  me. 

Worthy.  One  way  of  knowing  whether  we  really  desire 
to  obey  the  whole  law  of  God  is  this ;  when  we  find  we 
have  as  great  a  regard  to  that  part  of  it,  the  breach  of 
which  does  not  touch  our  own  interest,  as  to  that  part  which 
does.  For  instance,  a  man  robs  me  ;  I  am  in  a  violent  pas- 
sion with  him,  and  when  it  is  said  tome,  doest  thou  well  to 
be  angry  ?  I  answer,  I  do  well.  Thou  shalt  vol  steal  is  a 
law  of  God,  and  this  fellow  has  broken  that  law.  Ay,  but 
says  conscience,  'tis  thy  own  ])roperty  which  is  in  question. 
He  has  broken  thy  hedge,  he  has  stolen  thy  sheep,  he  has 
taken  thy  purse.  Art  thou  therefore  sure  whether  it  is  his 
Violation  of  thy  property,  or  of  God's  law  which  provokes 
thee  ?  I  will  put  a  second  case  :  I  hear  another  swear  most 
grievously  ;  or  I  meet  him  coming  drunk  out  of  an  ale- 
house ;  or  I  find  him  singing  a  loose,  profane  song.  If  I  am 
not  as  much  grieved  for  this  blasphemer,  or  this  drunkard, 
as  I  was  for  this  robber ;  if  I  do  not  take  the  same  pains  to 
brine  him  to  a  sense  of  his  sin,  which  I  did  to  brine  the 
robber  to  justice,  ''how  dwelleth  the  love  of  God  in  me?" 
Is  it  not  clear  that  I  value  my  own  sheep  more  than  God's 
commandments  ?  That  I  prize  my  purse  more  than  I  love 
my  Maker?  In  short,  whenever  I  find  out  that  I  am  more 
jealous  for  my  own  property  than  for  God's  law ;  more 
careful  about  my  own  reputation  than  his  honor,  I  always 
suspect  I  have  got  upon  wrong  ground,  and  that  even  my 
right  actions  are  not  proceeding  from  a  right  principle. 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       311 

Bragwell.  Why,  what  in  the  world  would  you  have  me 
do  ?  It  would  distract  me,  if  I  must  run  up  every  little 
action  to  its  spring,  in  this  manner. 

Worthy.  You  must  confess  that  your  sins  are  sins.  You 
must  not  merely  call  them  sins,  while  you  see  no  guilt  in 
them  ;  but  you  must  confess  them  so  as  to  hate  and  detest 
them ;  so  as  to  be  habitually  humbled  under  the  sense  of 
them  ;  so  as  to  trust  for  salvation  not  in  your  freedom  from 
them,  but  in  the  mercy  of  a  Saviour ;  and  so  as  to  make  it 
the  chief  business  of  your  life  to  contend  against  them,  and 
in  the  main  to  forsake  them.  And  remember,  that  if  you 
seek  for  a  deceitful  gayety,  rather  than  a  well-grounded 
cheerfulness ;  if  you  prefer  a  false  security  to  final  safety, 
and  now  go  away  to  your  cattle  and  your  farm,  and  dismiss 
the  subject  from  your  thoughts,  lest  it  should  make  you  un- 
easy, I  am  not  sure  that  this  simple  discourse  may  not  ap- 
pear against  you  at  the  day  of  account,  as  a  fresh  proof 
that  you  "  loved  darkness  rather  than  light,"  and  so  increase 
your  condemnation. 

Mr.  Bragwell  was  more  affected  than  he  cared  to  own. 
lie  went  to  bed  with  less  spirits  and  more  humility  than 
usual.  He  did  not,  however,  care  to  let  Mr.  Worthy  see 
the  impression  which  it  had  made  upon  him  ;  but  at  part- 
ing next  morning,  he  shook  him  by  the  hand  more  cordially 
than  usual,  and  made  him  promise  to  return  his  visit  in  a 
short  time. 

What  befell  Mr.  J  Jragwell  and  his  family  on  his  going 
home  may,  perhaps,  make  the  subject  of  a  future  part  of 
this  historv. 


812  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS? 


PART    III. 

THE    VISIT    RETURNED. 

Mr.  Bragwell,  when  he  returned  home  from  his  visit  to 
Mr.  Worthy,  as  recorded  in  the  second  part  of  this  history, 
found  that  he  was  not  quite  so  happy  as  he  had  formerly 
heen.  The  discourses  of  Mr.  Worthy  had  broken  in  not  a 
little  on  his  comfort.  And  he  hegan  to  suspect  that  he 
was  not  so  completely  in  the  right  as  his  vanity  had  led  him 
to  believe.  He  seemed  also  to  feel  less  satisfaction  in  the 
idle  gentility  of  his  own  daughters,  since  he  had  been  wit- 
ness to  the  simplicity,  modesty,  and  usefulness  of  those  of 
Mr.  Worthy.  And  he  could  not  help  seeing  that  the  vul- 
gar violence  of  his  wife  did  not  produce  so  much  family 
happiness  at  home,  as  the  humble  piety  and  quiet  diligence 
of  Mrs.  Worthy  produced  in  the  house  of  his  friend. 

Happy  would  it  have  been  for  Mr.  Bragwell,  if  he  had 
followed  up  those  new  convictions  of  his  own  mind,  which 
would  have  led  him  to  struggle  against  the  power  of  evil 
principles  in  himself,  and  to  have  controlled  the  force  of 
evil  habits  in  his  family.  But  his  convictions  were  just 
strong  enough  to  make  him  uneasy  under  his  errors,  with- 
out driving  him  to  reform  them.  The  slight  impression 
soon  wore  off,  and  he  fell  back  into  his  old  practices.  Still 
Ids  esteem  for  Mr.  Worthy  was  not  at  all  abated  by  the 
plain-dealing  of  that  honest  friend.  It  is  true,  he  dreaded 
his  piercing  eye :  he  felt  that  his  example  held  out  a  con- 
stant reproof  to  himself.  Yet  such  is  the  force  of 'early  af- 
fection and  rooted  reverence,  that  he  longed  to  see  him  at 
his  house.  This  desire,  indeed,  as  is  commonly  the  case, 
was  made  up  of  mixed  motives.     He  wished  for  the  pleas- 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     B  R  A  G  W  E  L  L .       313 

ure  of  his  Mend's  company  ;  he  longed  for  that  favorite  tri- 
umph of  a  vulgar  niiud,  an  opportunity  of  showing  him  his 
riches ;  and  he  thought  it  would  raise  his  credit  in  the 
world  to  have  a  man  of  Mr.  Worthy's  character  at  his 
house. 

Mr.  Bragwell,  it  is  true,  still  went  on  with  the  same 
eagerness  in  gaining  money,  and  the  same  ostentation  in 
spending  it.  But  though  he  was  as  covetous  as  ever,  he 
was  not  quite  so  sure  that  it  was  right  to  be  so.  While  he 
was  actually  engaged  abroad  indeed,  in  transactions  with  his 
dealers,  he  was  not  very  scrupulous  about  the  means  by 
which  lie  got  his  money;  and  while  he  was  indulging  in 
festivity  with  his  friends  at  home,  he  was  easy  enough  as  to 
the  manner  in  which  he  spent  it.  But  a  man  can  neither 
be  making  bargains,  nor  making  feasts  always  ;  there  must 
be  some  intervals  between  these  two  great  objects  for  which 
worldly  men 'may  be  said  to  live;  and  in  some  of  these  in- 
tervals the  most  worldly  form,  perhaps,  some  random  plana 
of  amendment.  '  And  though  many  a  one  may  say  in  the  full- 
ness of  enjoyment,  "  Soul  take  thine  ease,  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry  ;"  yet  hardly  any  man,  perhaps,  allows  himself  to  say, 
evenin  the  most  secret  moments,  I  will  never  retire  from  bus- 
iness— I  will  never  repent — I  will  never  think  of  death — 
eternity  shall  never  come  into  my  thoughts.  The  most  that 
such  a  one  probably  ventures  to  say  is,  I  need  not  repent 
yet  ;  I  will  continue  such  a  sin  a  little  longer  ;  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  think  on  the  next  world  when  I  am  no  longer  fit 
for  the  business  or  the  pleasures  of  this. 

Such  was  the  case  with  Bragwell.  He  set  up  in  his  mind 
a  general  distant  sort  of  resolution,  that  some  years  hence, 
when  he  should  he  afew  years  older,  afew  thousands  rich- 

;  when  a  few  more  of  his  present  schemes  should  be  com- 
pleted, he  would  then  think  of  altering  his  course  of  Hie. 
He  would  then  certainly  set  about  spending  a  religious  old 

14 


314  THE     TWO     "WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

age;  be  would  reform  some  practices  in  his  dealings,  or 
perhaps,  quit  business  entirely  ;  he  would  think  about  read- 
ing good  books,  and  when  he  had  completed  such  a  pur- 
chase, he  would  even  begin  to  give  something  to  the  poor ; 
but  at  present  he  really  had  little  to  spare  for  charity.  The 
very  reason  why  he  should  have  given  more  was  just  the 
cause  he  assigned  for  not  giving  at  all,  namely  the  hardness 
of  the  times.  The  true  grand  source  of  charity,  self-denial, 
never  came  into  his  head.  Spend  less  that  you  mav  save 
more,  he  would  have  thought  a  shrewd  maxim  enough. 
But  spend  less  that  you  may  spare  more,  never  entered  into 
his  book  of  proverbs. 

At  length  the  time  came  when  Mr.  Worthy  had  promised 
to  return  his  visit.  It  was  indeed  a  little  hastened  by  no- 
tice that  Mr.  Bragwell  would  have  in  the  course  of  the  week 
a  piece  of  land  to  sell  by  auction  ;  and  though  Mr.  Worthy 
believed  the  price  was  likely  to  be  above  his  pocket,  yet  he 
knew  it  was  an  occasion  which  would  be  likely  to  bring  the 
principal  farmers  of  that  neighborhood  together,  some  of 
whom  he  wanted  to  meet.  And€  it  was  on  this  occasion 
that  Mr.  Bragwell  prided  himself,  that  he  should  show  his 
neighbors  so  sensible  a  man  as  his  dear  friend  Mr.  Worthy. 

Worthy  arrived  at  his  friend's  house  on  the  Saturday, 
time  enough  to  see  the  house,  and  garden,  and  grounds  of 
Mr.  Bragwell  by  daylight.  He  saw  with  pleasure  (for  he 
had  a  warm  and  generous  heart)  those  evident  signs  of  his 
friend's  prosperity;  but  as  he  was  a  man  of  sober  mind,  and 
was  a  most  exact  dealer  in  truth,  he  never  allowed  his 
tongue  the  license  of  immodest  commendation,  which  he 
used  to  say  either  savored  of  flattery  or  envy.  Indeed  he 
never  rated  mere  worldly  things  so  highly  as  to  bestow  up  m 
them  undue  praise.  His  calm  approbation  somewhat  dis- 
appointed the  vanity  of  Mr.  Bragwell,  who  could  not  help 
secretly  suspecting  that  his  friend,  as  good  a  man  as  he  was. 


O  R 


THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       315 


was  not  quite  free  from  envy.  He  felt,  however,  very  much 
inclined  to  forgive  this  jealousy,  which  he  feared  the  sight 
of  bis  ample  property,  and  handsome  habitation  must  natu- 
rally awaken  in  the  mind  of  a  man  whose  own  possessions 
were  so  inferior.  He  practiced  the  usual  trick  of  ordinary 
and  vulgar  minds,  that  of  pretending  himself  to  find  some 
fault  with  those  things  which  were  particularly  deserving 
praise,  when  he  found  Worthy  disposed  to  pass  them  over  in 
silence. 

When  they  came  in  to  supper,  he  affected  to  talk  of  the 
comforts  of  Mr.  Worthy's  little  parlor,  by  way  of  calling 
his  attention  to  bis  own  large  one.  He  repeated  the  word 
snug,  as  applied  to  every  thing  at  Mr.  Worthy's,  with  the 
plain  design  to  make  comparisons  favorable  to  his  own 
more  ample  domains.  He  contrived,  as  be  passed  by  his 
chair,  by  a  seeming  accident,  to  push  open  the  door  of  a 
large  beaufet  in  the  parlor,  in  which  all  the  finery  was  most 
ostentatiously  set  out  to  view.  He  protested  with  a  look 
of  satisfaction  which  belied  bis  words,  that  for  his  part  he 
did  not  care  a  farthing  for  all  this  trumpery;  and  then 
smiling  and  rubbing  his  bauds,  added,  with  an  air  of  no 
small  importance,  what  a  good  thing  it  is  though,  for  peo- 
ple of  substance,  that  the  tax  on  plate  is  taken  off.  "  You 
are  a  happy  man,  Mr.  Worthy ;  you  do  not  feel  these 
tilings  ;  tax  or  no  tax,  it  is  all  the  same  to  you."  He  took 
care  during  this  speech,  by  a  cast  of  his  eve,  to  direct  Mr. 
Worthy's  attention  to  a  great  profusion  of  the  brightest 
cups,  salvers,  and  tankards,  and  other  shining  ornaments, 
which  crowded  I  lie  beaufet.  Mr.  Worthy  gravely  answered 
Mr.  Bragwell,  "It  was  indeed  a  tax  which  could  not  affect 
so  plain  a  man  as  myself;  but  as  it  fell  on  a  mere  luxury, 
and  therefore  could  not  hurt  the  poor,  I  was  always  sorry 
that  it  could  not  be  made  productive  enough  to  be  con- 
tinued.    A  man  in  my  middling  situation,  who  is  contented 


316  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

with  a  good  glass  of  b  er,  poured  from  a  handsome  earthen 
mug,  the  glass,  the  mug,  and  tbe  beer,  all  of  English  manu- 
facture, will  be  but  little  disturbed  at  taxes  on  plate  or  on 
wine  ;  but  be  will  regret,  as  I  do,  tbat  many  of  tbese  taxes 
are  so  much  evaded,  tbat  new  taxes  are  continually  brought 
on  to  make  up  the  deficiencies  of  tbe  old." 

During  supper  the  young  ladies  sat  in  disdainful  silence, 
not  deigning  to  bestow  the  smallest  civility  on  so  plain  a 
man  as  Mr.  Worthy.  Tbey  left  the  room  with  their  mam- 
ma as  soon  as  possible,  beiug  impatient  to  get  away  to  ridi- 
cule their  father's  old-fashioned  friend  at  full  liberty. 

THE  DANCE;  OR,  THE  CHRISTMAS  MERRY-MAKING;  EXEMPLI- 
FYING THE  EFFECTS  OF  MODERN  EDUCATION  IN  A  FARM- 
HOUSE. 

As  soon  as  tbey  were  gone,  Mr.  Worthy  asked  Bragwell 
how  bis  family  comforts  stood,  and  how  bis  daughters,  who, 
he  said,  were  really  fine  young  women,  went  on.  "O,  as 
to  that,"  replied  Bragwell,  "  pretty  much  like  other  men's 
handsome  daughters,  I  suppose,  that  is,  worse  and  worse. 
I  really  begin  to  apprehend  that  their  fantastical  notions 
have  gained  such  a  bead,  tbat  after  all  tbe  money  I  have 
scraped  together,  I  shall  never  get  them  well  married. 

"Betsy  has  just  lost  as  good  an  offer  as  any  girl  could 
desire  :  young  Wilson,  an  honest  substantial  grazier  as  any 
in  tbe  country.  He  not  only  knows  every  thing  proper  for 
his  station,  but  is  pleasing  in  his  behavior,  and  a  pretty 
scholar  into  tbe  bargain ;  he  reads  history-books  and  voyages 
of  a  winter's  evening,  to  bis  infirm  father,  instead  of  going 
to  the  card-assembly  in  our  town ;  he  neither  likes  drinking 
nor  sporting,  and  is  a  sort  of  a  favorite  with  our  parson, 
because  he  takes  in  the  weekly  numbers  of  a  fine  Bible  with 
cuts,  and  subscribes  to  tbe  Sunday  School,  and  makes  a  fuss 
about  helping  the  poor  ;  and  sets  up  soup-shops,  and  sells 


OB,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       317 

bacon  at  an  under  price,  and  gives  odd  bits  of  ground  to  his 
laborers  to  help  them  in  these  dear  times,  as  they  call  them; 
but  I  think  they  are  good  times  for  us,  Mr.  Worthy. 

"  Well,  for  all  this,  Betsy  only  despised  him,  and  laughed 
at  him ;  but  as  he  is  both  handsome  and  rich,  I  thought 
.she  might  come  round  at  last ;  and  so  I  iuvited  him  to  come 
and  stay  a  day  or  two  at  Christmas,  -when  we  have  always 
a  little  sort  of  merry-making  here.  But  it  would  not  do. 
He  scorned  to  talk  that  palavering  stuff  which  she  has  been 
used  to  in  the  marble-covered  books  I  told  you  of.  He  told 
her,  indeed,  that  it  would  be  the  happiness  of  his  heart  to 
live  with  her  ;  which  I  own  I  thought  was  as  much  as  could 
be  expected  of  any  man.  But  miss  had  no  notion  of  marry- 
ing any  one  who  was  only  desirous  of  living  with  her.  No, 
and  forsooth,  her  lover  must  declare  himself  ready  to  die  for 
her,  which  honest  Wilson  wTas  not  such  a  fool  as  to  offer  to 
do.  In  the  afternoon,  however,  he  got  a  little  into  her 
favor  by  making  out  a  rebus  or  two  in  the  Lady's  Diary, 
and  she  condescended  to  say,  she  did  not  think  Mr.  Wilson 
had  been  so  good  a  scholar ;  but  he  soon  spoiled  all  again. 
We  had  a  little  dance  in  the  evening.  The  young  man, 
though  he  had  not  much  taste  for  those  sort  of  gambols, 
yet  thought  he  could  foot  it  a  little  in  the  old  fashioned 
way.  So  he  asked  Betsy  to  be  his  partner.  But  when  he 
asked  what  dance  they  should  call,  miss  drew  up  her  head, 
and  m  a  strange  gibberish,  said  she  should  dance  nothing 
but  a  Menuetde  la  Cour,  and  ordered  him  to  call  it.  Wil- 
son stared,  and  honestly  told  her  she  must  call  it  herself; 
for  he  could  neither  spell  nor  pronounce  such  outlan  lish 
words,  nor  assist  in  such  an  outlandish  performance.  I 
burst  out  a  laughing,  and  told  him,  I  supposed  it  something 
like  questions  ami  commands;  and  if  so,  that  \\.-.>  much 
merrier  than  dancing.  Seeing  her  partner  standing  stock 
still,  and  not  knowing  how  to  get  out  of  the  scrape,  the  girl 


318  THE     TWO     WEALTHY"     FARMERS: 


began  by  herself,  an  1  fell  to  swimming,  and  sinking,  and 
capering,  and  flourishing,  and  posturing,  for  all  the  world 
just  like  the  man  on  the  slack  rope  at  our  fair.  But  seeing 
Wilson  standing  like  a  stuck  pig,  and  we  all  laughing  at 
her,  she  resolved  to  wreak  her  malice  upon  him  ;  so,  with  a 
look  of  rage  and  disdain,  she  advised  him  to  go  down  coun- 
try  bumpkin,  with  the  dairy  maid,  who  would  make  a  much 
fitter  partner,  as  well  as  wife,  for  him,  than  she  could  do. 

"'I  am  quite  of  your  mind,  miss,' said  he,  with  more 
spirit  than  I  thought  was  in  him  ;  '  you  may  make  a  good 
partner  for  a  dance,  but  you  would  make  a  sad  one  to  go 
through  life  with.  I  will  take  my  leave  of  you,  miss,  with 
this  short  story.  I  had  lately  a  pretty  large  concern  in 
hay-jobbing,  which  took  me  to  London.  I  waited  a  good 
while  in  the  Hay-market  for  my  dealer,  and,  to  pass  away 
the  time,  I  stepped  into  a  sort  of  foreign  singing  play-house 
there,  where  I  was  grieved  to  the  heart  to  see  young  women 
painted  and  dizened  out,  and  capering  away  just  as  you 
have  been  doing.  I  thought  it  bad  enough  in  them,  and 
wondered  the  quality  could  be  entertained  with  such  in- 
decent mummery.  But  little  did  I  think  to  meet  with  the 
same  paint,  finery,  and  posturing  tricks  in  a  farm-house. 
I  will  never  marry  a  woman  who  despises  me,  nor  the  sta- 
tion in  which  1  should  place  her,  and  so  I  take  my  leave.' 
Poor  girl,  ]k>\y  she  was  provoked  !  to  be  publicly  refused, 
and  turned  "If,  as  it  were,  by  a  grazier  !  But  it  was  of  use 
to  some  of  the  other  girls,  who  have  not  held  up  their  heads 
quite  so  high  since,  nor  painted  quite  so  red,  but  have  con- 
descended to  speak  U)  their  equals. 

"J Jut  how  I  run  on  !  I  forget  it  is  Saturday  night,  and 
that  I  ought  to  be  paying  my  workmen,  who  are  all  wait- 
ing for  me  without." 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       319 


-i 


SATURDAY    NIGHT,     OR    THE    WORKMEN  S    WAGES. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Bragwell  had  done  paying  Lis  men,  Mr. 
Worthy,  who  was  always  ready  to  extract  something  useful 
from  accidental  circumstances,  said  to  him,  "  I  have  made 
it  a  habit,  and  I  hope  not  an  unprofitable  one,  of  trying  to 
turn  to  some  moral  use,  not  only  all  the  events  of  daily  life, 
but  all  the  employments  of  it,  too.  And  though  it  occurs 
so  often,  I  hardly  know  one  that  sets  me  thinking  more 
seriously  than  the  ordinary  business  you  have  been  dis- 
charging." "Ay,"  said  Bragwell,  "it  sets  me  thinking  too, 
and  seriously,  as  you  say,  when  I  observe  how  much  the 
price  of  wages  is  increased."  "  Yes,  yes,  you  are  ready 
enough  to  think  of  that,"  said  Worthy,  uk  but  you  say  not  a 
word  of  how  much  the  value  of  your  land  is  increased,  and 
that  the  more  you  pay,  the  more  you  can  afford  to  pay. 
But  the  thoughts  I  spoke  of  are  quite  of  another  cast. 

"  When  1  call  in  my  laborers,  on  a  Saturday  night,  to 
pay  them,  it  often  brings  to  my  mind  the  great  and  general 
day  of  account,  when  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us,  shall  be 
called  to  our  grand  and  awful  reckoning,  when  we  shall  go 
to  receive  our  wages,  master  and  servants,  farmer  and  la- 
borer. When  I  see  that  one  of  my  men  has  failed  of  the 
wages  he  should  have  received,  because  he  has  been  idling 
at  a  fair;  another  has  lost  a  day  by  a  drinking-bout,  a  third 
confesses  that,  though  he  had  task-work,  and  might  have 
earned  still  more,  yet  he  has  been  careless,  and  has  not  his 
full  pay  to  receive;  this,  I  say,  som  stimes  sets  me  on  think- 
ing whether  1  also  have  made  the  must  of  my  time.  And 
when  I  come  to  pay  even  (he  more  diligent,  who  have 
worked  all  the  week,  when  I  reflect  that  even  these  have 
done  no  more  than  it  was  their  duty  to  do,  I  can  not  help 
saying  to  myself,  Night  is  eome,  Saturday  night  is  come. 
No  repentance,  or  diligfince  on  the  part  of  these  poor  men 


320  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

can  now  make  a  bad  week's  work  good.  This  week  lias 
gone  into  eternity.  To-morrow  is  the  season  of  rest;  work- 
ing-time is  over.  '  There  is  no  knowledge  nor  device  in  the 
grave.'  My  life  also  will  soon  be  swallowed  up  in  eternity ; 
soon  the  space  allotted  me  for  diligence,  for  labor,  will  be 
over.  Soon  will  the  grand  question  be  asked,  'What  hast 
thou  done  ?  Give  an  account  of  thy  stewardship.  Didst 
thou  use  thy  working  days  to  the  end  for  which  they  were 
given  V  With  some  such  thougths  I  commonly  go  to  bed, 
and  they  help  to  quicken  me  to  a  keener  diligence  for  the 
next  week." 

SOME    ACCOUNT    OF    A    SUNDAY    IN   MR.    BRAGWELL's    FAMILY. 

Mr.  Worthy  had  been  for  so  many  years  used  to  the  sober 
ways  of  his  own  well-ordered  family,  that  he  greatly  dis- 
liked to  pass  a  Sunday  in  any  house  of  which  religion  was 
not  the  governing  principle.  Indeed,  be  commonly  ordered 
his  affairs,  and  regulated  his  journeys  with  an  eye  to  this 
object.  "To  pass  a  Sunday  in  an  irreligious  family,"  said 
he,  "  is  always  unpleasant,  often  unsafe.  I  seldom  find  I 
can  do  them  any  good,  and  they  may  perhaps  do  me  some 
harm.  At  least,  I  am  giving  a  sanction  to  their  manner  of 
passing  it,  if  I  pass  it  in  the  same  manner.  If  I  reprove- 
them,  I  subject  myself  to  the  charge  of  singularity,  and  of 
being  righteous  over-much  ;  if  I  do  not  reprove  them,  I  con- 
firm and  strengthen  them  in  evil.  And  whether  I  reprove 
them  or  not,  I  certainly  partake  of  their  guilt,  if  I  spend  it 
as  they  do." 

lie  had,  however,  so  strong  a  desire  to  be  useful  to  Mr. 
Bragwell,  that  he  at  length  determined  to  break  through 
his  common  practice,  and  pass  the  Sunday  at  his  house. 
Mr.  Worthy  was  surprised  to  find  that  though  the  church 
bell  was  going,  the  breakfast  was  not  ready,  and  expressed 
his  wonder  how  this  could  be  the  case  in  so  industrious  a 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF    MR.     BEA6WE1L,       321 

family.  Bragwell  made  some  awkward  excuses.  He  said 
his  wife  worked  her  servants  so  hard  all  the  week,  that  even 
she,  as  notable  as  she  was,  a  little  relaxed  from  the  strict- 
ness of  her  demands  on  Sunday  mornings ;  and  he  owned 
that  in  a  general  way  no  one  was  up  early  enough  for 
church.  He  confessed  that  his  wife  commonly  spent  the 
morning  in  making  puddings,  pies,  syllabubs,  and  cakes,  to 
last  through  the  week  ;  as  Sunday  was  the  only  leisure  time 
she  and  her  maids  had.  Mr.  Worthy  soon  saw  an  uncom- 
mon bustle  in  the  house.  All  hands  were  busy.  It  was 
nothing  but  baking,  and  boiling,  and  stewing,  and  frying, 
and  roasting,  and  running,  and  scolding,  and  eating.  The 
boy  was  kept  from  church  to  clean  the  plate,  the  man  to 
gather  the  fruit,  the  mistress  to  make  the  cheese-cakes,  the 
maids  to  dress  the  dinner,  and  the  young  ladies  to  dress 
themselves. 

The  truth  was,  Mrs.  Bragwell,  who  had  heard  much  of 
the  order  and  good  management  of  Mr.  Worthy's  family, 
but  who  looked  down  with  disdain  upon  them  as  far  less 
rich  than  herself,  was  resolved  to  indulge  her  vanity  on  the 
present  occasion.  She  was  determined  to  be  even  with 
Mrs.  Worthy,  in  whose  praises  Bragwell  had  been  so  loud, 
and  felt  no  small  pleasure  in  the  hope  of  making  her  guest 
uneasy,  iu  comparing  her  with  his  own  wife,  when  he 
should  be  struck  dumb  with  the  display  both  of  her  skill 
and  her  wealth.  Mr.  Worthy  v. as  indeed  struck  to  behold 
as  large  a  dinner  as  he  had  been  used  to  see  at  a  justice's 
meetmcr.  II  ■,  whose  frugal  and  pious  wife  had  accustomed 
him  only  to  such  a  plain  Sunday's  dinner  as  could  be 
dressed  withoul  keeping  any  one  from  church,  when  he 
surveyed  the  loaded  table  of  his  friend,  instead  of  feeling 
that  envy  which  the  grand  preparations  were  meant  to  raise, 
felt  nothing  but  disgust  at  the  vanity  of  his  friend's  wife, 

14* 


322  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

mixed  >vith  much  thankfulness  for  the  piety  and  simplicity 
of  his  own. 

After  having  made  the  dinner  wait  a  long  time,  the 
Misses  Bragwell  marched,  in,  dressed  as  if  they  were  going 
to  the  assize-hall ;  they  looked  very  scornfully  at  having 
been  so  hurried,  though  they  had  been  dressing  ever  since 
they  got  up,  and  their  fond  father,  when  he  saw  them  so 
fine,  forgave  all  their  impertinence,  and  cast  an  eye  of  tri- 
umph on  Mr.  Worthy,  who  felt  he  had  never  loved  his  own 
humhle  daughters  so  well  as  at  that  moment. 

In  the  afternoon  the  whole  party  went  to  church.  To 
do  them  justice,  it  was  indeed  their  common  practice  once 
a  day,  when  the  weather  was  good,' and  the  road  was  neither 
dusty  nor  dirty,  when  the  minister  did  not  begin  too  early, 
when  the  young  ladies  had  not  been  disappointed  of  their 
bonnets  on  the  Saturday  night,  and  when  they  had  no 
smart  company  in  the  house,  who  rather  wished  to  stay  at 
home.  When  this  last  was  the  case,  which,  to  say  the 
truth,  happened  pretty  often,  it  was  thought  a  piece  of  good 
manners  to  conform  to  the  humor  of  the  guests.  Mr.  Brag- 
well  had  this  day  forborne  to  ask  any  of  his  usual  company, 
well  knowing  that  their  vain  and  worldly  conversation 
would  only  serve  to  draw  on  him  some  new  reprimand  from 
his  friend. 

Mrs.  Bragwell  and  her  daughters  picked  up,  as  usual,  a 
good  deal  of  acquaintance  at  church.  Many  compliments 
passed,  and  much  of  the  news  of  the  week  was  retailed  be- 
fore the  service  began.  They  waited  with  impatience  for 
the  reading  the  lessons  as  a  licensed  season  for  whispering, 
and  the  subject  begun  during  the  lessons,  was  finished  while 
they  were  singing  the  psalms.  The  young  ladies  made  an 
appointment  for  the  afternoon  with  a  friend  in  the  uexi  pew, 
while  their  mamma  took  the  opportunity  of  inquiring  aloud, 
the  character  of  a  dairy  maid,  which  she  observed,  with  a 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.      823 

compliment  to  her  own  good  management,  would  save  time 
on  a  week-day. 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  found  himself  quite  in  a  new  world, 
returned  home  with  his  friend  alone.  In  the  evening  he 
ventured  to  ask  Bragwell,  if  he  did  not,  on  a  Sunday 
night  at  least,  make  it  a  custom  to  read  and  pray  with  his 
family.  Bragwell  told  hitn  he  was  sorry  to  say  he  had  no 
family  at  home,  else  he  should  like  to  do  it  for  the  sake  of 
example.  But  as  his  servants  worked  hard  all  the  week, 
his  wife  was  of  opinion  that  they  should  then  have  a  little 
holiday.  Mr.  Worthy  pressed  it  home  upon  him,  whether 
the  utter  neglect  of  his  servants'  principles  was  not  likely 
to  make  a  heavy  article  in  his  final  account ;  and  asked 
hi  in  if  he  did  not  helieve  that  the  too  general  liberty  of 
meeting  together,  jaunting,  and  diverting  themselves  on 
Sunday  evenings,  was  not  often  found  to  produce  the  worst 
effects  on  the  morals  of  servants  and  the  good  order  of 
families  ?  "  I  put  it  to  your  conscience,"  said  he,  "  Mr. 
Bragwell,  whether  Sunday,  which  was  meant  as  a  blessing 
and  a  benefit,  is  not,  as  it  is  commonly  kept,  turned  into 
the  most  mischievous  part  of  the  week,  by.  the  selfish  kind- 
ness of  masters,  who,  not  daring  to  set  their  servants  about 
any  public  work,  allot  them  that  day  to  follow  their  own 
devices,  that  they  themselves  may,  with  more  rigor,  refuse 
them  a  little  indulgence,  and  a  reasonable  holiday,  in  the 
working  part  of  the  week,  which  a  good  servant  has  now 
and  then  a  fair  right  to  expect.  Those  masters  who  will 
give  them  half,  or  all  of  the  Lord's  day,  will  not  spare  them 
a  single  hour  of  a  working  day.  Their  work  must  be 
done  ;  God's  work  may  be  let  alone. 

Mr.  Bragwell  owned  that  Sunday  had  produced  many 
mischiefa  in  his  own  family.  That  the  young  men  and 
maids,  having  no  eye  upon  them,  frequently  went  to  im- 
proper places  with  other  servants  turned  adrift  like  them- 


324  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

selves.  That  in  these  parties  the  poor  girls  wore  too  fre- 
quently led  astray,  and  the  men  got  to  public  houses  and 
fives-playing.  But  it  was  none  of  his  business  to  watch 
them.  His  family  only  did  as  others  do  ;  indeed  it  was  his 
wife's  concern  ;  and  as  she  was  so  good  a  manager  on  other 
days,  that  she  would  not  spare  them  an  hour  to  visit  a  sick 
father  or  mother,  it  would  be  hard,  she  said,  if  they  might 
not  have  Sunday  afternoon  to  themselves,  and  she  could 
not  blame  them  for  making  the  most  of  it.  Indeed,  she 
was  so  indulgent  in  this  particular,  that  she  often  excused 
the  men  from  going  to  church,  that  they  might  serve  the 
beasts,  and  the  maids,  that  they  might  get  the  milking  done 
before  the  holiday  part  of  the  evening  came  on.  She  would 
not,  indeed,  hear  of  any  competition  between  doing  her 
work  and  taking  their  pleasure  ;  but  when  the  difference 
lay  between  their  going  to  church  and  taking  their  pleas- 
ure, he  must  say  that  for  his  wife,  she  always  inclined  to 
the  good-natured  side  of  the  question.  She  is  strict  enough 
in  keeping  them  sober,  because  drunkenness  is  a  costly  sin; 
and  to  do  her  justice,  she  does  not  care  how  little  they  sin 
at  her  expense. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Worthy,  "  I  always  like  to  examine 
both  sides  fairly,  and  to  see  the  different  effects  of  opposite 
practices  ;  now,  which  plan  produces  the  greater  share  of 
comfort  to  the  master,  and  of  profit  to  the  servants  in  the 
long  run  ?  Your  servants,  'tis  likely,  are  very  much  at- 
tached to  you,  and  very  fond  of  living  where  they  get  their 
own  way  in  so  great  a  point." 

"  O,  as  to  that,"  replied  Bragwell, '"  you  are  quite  out. 
My  house  is  a  scene  of  discord,  mutiny,  and  discontent. 
And  though  there  is  not  a  better  manager  in  England  than 
my  wife,  yet  she  is  always  changing  her  servants,  so  that 
every  quarter-day  is  a  sort  of  jail  delivery  at  my  house  ; 
and  when  they  go  off,  as  they  often  do,  at  a  moment's  warn- 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BKAGWEL1.       325 

ing,  to  own  the  truth,  I  often  give  them  money  privately, 
that  they  may  not  carry  my  wife  before  the  justice  to  get 
their  wages." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Worthy,  "  that  all  your  worldly  com- 
pliances do  not  procure  you  even  worldly  happiness.  As 
to  my  own  fami  y,  I  take  care  to  let  them  see  that  their 
pleasure  is  bound  up  with  their  duty,  and  that  what  they 
may  call  my  strictness,  has  nothing  in  view  hut  their  safety 
and  happiness.  By  this  means  I  commonly  gain  their  love, 
as  well  as  secure  their  obedience.  I  know  that,  with  all  my 
care,  I  am  liable  to  be  disappointed,  'from  the  corruption 
that  is  in  the  world  through  sin.'  But  whenever  this  hap- 
pens, so  far  from  encouraging  me  in  remissness,  it  only 
serves  to  quicken  my  zeal.  If,  by  God's  blessing,  my  serv- 
ant turns  out  a  good  Christian,  I  have  been  an  humble  instru- 
ment in  his  haud  of  saving  a  soul  committed  to  my  charge." 

Mis.  Bragwell  came  home,  but  brought  only  one  of  her 
daughters  with  her;  the  other,  she  said,  had  given  them  the 
slip,  and  was  gone  with  a  young  friend,  and  would  not  re- 
turn for  a  day  or  two.  Mr.  Bragwell  was  greatly  dis- 
pleased, as  he  knew  that  young  friend  had  but  a  slight  char- 
acter, and  kept  bad  acquaintances.  Mrs.  Lragwell  came 
in,  all  hurry  and  bustle,  saying,  if  her  family  did  not  go  to 
bed  with  the  lamb  on  Sundays,  when  they  had  nothing  to 
do,  how  could  they  rise  with  the  lark  on  Mondays,  when 
so  much  was  to  be  done. 

Mr.  Worthy  had  this  night  much  matter  for  reflection. 
"We  need  not,"  said  he,  "go  into  the  great  world  to  look 
for  dissipation  and  vanity.  We  can  find  both  in  a  farm- 
house. '  As  fur  me  and  my  house,'  continued  he,  'we  will 
serve  the  Lord'  every  day,  but.  especially  on  Sunday.  '  It  i 
the  day  which  the  Lord  hath  made  ;  hath  ma de  for  him- 
self; we  will  rejoice  in  it,'  and  consider  th  •  religious  use  of 
it,  not  only  as  a  duty,  but  as  a  privilege." 


s 


,526      THE  TWO  "WEALTHY  FARMERS; 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Bragwell  and  his  friend  set  out 
early  f  r  the  Golden  Lion.  AVhat  passed  on  this  little  jour- 
ney, my  readers  shall  hear  soon. 


PAKT  IV. 

THE    SUBJECT    OF    PRAYER   DISCUSSED    IN  A  MORNING'S    RIDE. 

It  was  mentioned  in  the  last  part  of  this  history,  that  the 
chief  reason  which  had  drawn  Mr.  Worthy  to  visit  his 
friend  just  at  the  present  time  was,  that  Mr.  Bragwell  had 
a  small  estate  to  sell  by  auction.  Mr.  Worthy,  though  he 
did  not  think  he  should  be  a  bidder,  wished  to  be  present," 
as  he  had  business  to  settle  with  one  or  two  persons  who 
were  expected  at  the  Golden  Lion  on  that  day,  and  he  had 
put  off  his  visit  till  he  had  seen  the  sale  advertised  in  the 
county  paper. 

Mr.  Bragwell  and  Mr.  Worthy  set  out  early  on  the  Mon- 
day morning,  on  their  way  to  the  Golden  Lion,  a  small  inn 
in  a  neighboring  market-town.  As  they  had  time  before 
them,  they  had  agreed  to  ride  slowly  that  they  might  con- 
verse on  some  useful  subject,  but  here,  as  usual,  they  had 
two  opinions  about  the  same  thing.  Mr.  Bragwell's  notion 
of  a  useful  subject  was,  something  by  which  money  was  to 
be  got,  and  a  good  bargain  struck.  Mr  Worthy  was  no 
less  a  man  of  business  than  his  friend.  His  schemes  were 
wise,  and  his  calculations  just ;  his  reputation  for  integrity 
and  good  sense  made  him  the  common  judge  and  umpire 
in  his  neighbors'  affairs,  while  no  one  paid  a  more  exact  at- 
tention to  every  transaction  of  his  own.  But  the  business 
of  getting  money  was  not  with  him  the  first,  much  less 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAG  "WELL.       327 

was  it  the  whole  concern  of  the  day.  lie  sought,  in  the 
first  place,  'the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness.' 
Every  morning  when  he  rose,  he  remembered  that  he  had 
a  Maker  to. worship  as  well  as  a  family  to  maintain.  Re- 
ligion, however,  never  made  him  neglect  business,  though 
it  sometimes  made  him  postpone  it.  He  used  to  say,  no 
man  had  any  reason  to  expect  God's  blessing  through  the 
day  who  did  not  ask  it  in  the  morning  ;  nor  was  he  likely 
to  spend  the  day  in  the  fear  of  God  who  did  not  begin  it 
with  his  Avorship.  But  he  had  not  the  less  sense,  spirit,  and 
activity,  when  he  was  among  men  abroad,  because  he  had 
first  served  God  at  home. 

As  these  two  farmers  rode  along,  Mr.  Worthy  took  occa- 
sion, fiom  the  fineness  of  the  day,  and  the  beauty  of  the 
country  through  which  they  passed,  to  turn  the  discourse 
to  the  goodness  of  God,  and  our  infinite  obligations  to  him. 
He  knew  that  the  transition  from  thanksgiving  to  prayer 
would  be  natural  and  easy ;  and  he,  therefore,  sliding  by 
degrees  into  that  important  subject,  observed  that  secret 
prayer  was  a  duty  of  universal  obligation,  which  every  man 
has  it  in  his  power  to  fulfill,  and  which  he  seriously  believed 
was  the  ground-work  of  all  religious  practice,  and  of  all 
devout  affections. 

Mr.  Bragwell  felt  conscious  that  he  was  very  negligent 
and  irregular  in  the  performance  of  this  duty;  indeed,  he 
considered  it  as  a  mere  ceremony,  or  at  least,  as  a  duty 
which  might  give  way  to  the  slightest  temptation  of  drow- 
siness ai  night,  or  business  in  the  morning.  As  he  knew  he 
did  not  live  in  the  conscientious  performance  of  this  prac- 
tice, he  tried  to  ward  off  the  subject,  knowing  what  a  home 
way  his  friend  had  of  putting  things.  After  some  e\ 
he  at  last  said,  he  c<  rtainly  thought  private  prayer  a  good 
custom,  especially  tor  people  who  had  time  ;  and  that  those 
who  were  sick,  or  old,  or  out  of  business,  could  not  do  bet- 


328  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

ter ;  but  that  for  his  part,  he  believed  much  of  these  sort 
of  things  was  not  expected  from  men.  in  active  life. 

Worthy.  I  should  think,  Mr.  Brag-well,  that  those  who 
are  most  exposed  to  temptations  stand  most  in  need  of 
prayer ;  now  there  are  few,  methinks,  who  are  more  ex- 
posed to  temptation  than  men  in  business  ;  for  those  must 
be  in  most  danger,  at  least  from  the  world,  who  have  most 
to  do  with  it.  And  if  this  be  true,  ought  we  not  to  pre- 
pare ourselves  in  the  closet  for  the  trials  of  the  market,  the 
field,  and  the  shop  ?  It  is  but  putting  on  our  armor  before 
we  go  out  to  battle. 

Bragivell.  For  my  part,  I  think  example  is  the  whole  of 
religion,  and  if  the  master  of  a  family  is  orderly,  and  regu- 
lar, and  goes  to  church,  he  does  every  thing  which  can  be 
required  of  him,  and  no  one  has  a  right  to  call  him  to  an 
account  for  any  thing  more. 

Worthy.  Give  me  leave  to  say,  Mr.  Bragwell,  that  highly 
as  I  rate  a  good  example,  still  I  must  set  a  good  principle 
above  it.  I  know  I  must  keep  good  order,  indeed,  for  the 
sake  of  others  ;  but  I  must  keep  a  good  conscience  for  my 
own  sake.  To  God  I  owe  secret  piety,  T  must,  therefore, 
pray  to  him  in  private  ;  to  my  family  I  owe  a  Christian  ex- 
ample, and  for  that,  among  other  reasons,  I  must  not  fail 
to  go  to  church. 

Bragwell.  You  are  talking,  Mr.  Worthy,  as  if  I  were  an 
enemy  to  religion.  Sir,  I  am  no  heathen — Sir,  I  am  a 
Christian  ;  I  belong  to  the  church  ;  I  go  to  church  ;  I  always 
drink  prosperity  to  the  church.  You  yourself,  as  strict  as 
you  are,  in  never  missing  it  twice  a  day,  are  not  a  warmer 
friend  to  the  church  than  1  am. 

Worthy.  That  is  to  say,  you  know  its  inestimable  value 
as  a  political  institution  ;  but  you  do  not  seem  to  know  that 
a  man  may  be  very  irreligious  under  the  best  religious  insti- 
tutions ;  and  that  eveu  the  most  excellent  only  furnishes  the 


OR,    THE     HISTORY    OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       329 

means  of  being  religious,  and  is  no  more  religion  itself 
than  brick  and  mortar  are  prayers  and  thanksgivings.  I 
shall  never  think,  however  high  their  profession,  and  even 
however  regular  their  attendance,  that  those  men  truly  re- 
spect the  church,  who  bring  home  little  of  that  religion 
which  is  tauarht  iu  it  into  their  own  families  or  their  own 
hearts  ;  or,  who  make  the  whole  of  Christianity  to  consist  in 
a  mere  formal  attendance  there.    Excuse  me,  Mr.  Bragwell. 

Bragwell.  Mr.  Worthy,  I  am  persuaded  that  religion  -is 
quite  a  proper  thing  for  the  poor;  and  I  don't  think  that  the 
multitude  can  ever  be  kept  in  order  without  it ;  and  I  am 
a  sort  of  a  politician,  you  know.  We  must  have  bits,  and 
bridles,  and  restraints  for  the  vulgar. 

Worthy.  Your  opinion  is  very  just,  as  far  as  it  goes  ;  but 
it  does  not  go  far  enough,  since  it  does  not  go  to  the  root 
of  the  evil ;  for  while  you  value  yourself  on  the  soundness 
of  this  principle  as  a  politician,  I  wish  you  also  to  see  the 
reason  of  it  as  a  Christian  ;  depend  upon  it,  if  religion  he 
good  for  the  community  at  large,  it  is  equally  good  for 
every  family  ;  and  what  is  right  for  a  family  is  equally 
right  for  each  individual  in  it.  You  have  therefore  your- 
self brought  the  most  unanswerable  argument  why  you 
ought  to  be  religious  yourself,  by  asking  how  we  shall  keep 
others  in  order  without  religion.  For,  believe  me,  Mr. 
Bragwell,  there  is  no  particular  clause  to  except  you  in  the 
gospel.  There  are  no  exceptions  there  in  favor  of  any  one 
class  of  men.  The  same  restraints  which  are  necessary  for 
the  people  at  large,  are  equally  necessary  for  men  of  every 
order,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  bond  and  free,  learned 
and  i'»-norant.  It'  Jesus  Christ  died  for  no  one  particular 
rank,  class,  or  community,  then  there  is  no  one  rank,  class, 
or  community,  exempt  from  the  obedience  to  his  laws  en- 
joined by  the  gospel.  May  1  ask  you,  Mr.  Bragwell,  what 
M  your  reason  for  going  to  church  ? 


330  THE     TWO     WEALTHY    FARMERS; 

JSragwell.  Sir,  I  am  shocked  at  your  question.  How 
can  I  avoid  doing  a  thing  so  customary  and  so  creditable? 
Not  go  to  church,  indeed  !  What  do  you  take  me  for, 
Mr.  Worthy  ?  I  am  afraid  you  suspect  me  to  be  a  papist, 
or  a  heathen,  or  of  some  religion  or  other  that  is  not  Chris- 
tian. 

Worthy.  If  a  foreigner  were  to  hear  how  violently  one 
set  of  Christians  in  this  country  often  speak  against  another, 
how  earnest  would  he  suppose  us  all  to  be  in  religious  mat- 
ters :  and  how  astonished  to  discover  that  many  a  man  has 
perhaps  little  other  proof  to  give  of  the  sincerity  of  his  own 
religion,  except  the  violence  with  which  he  hates  the  relig- 
ion of  another  party.  It  is  not  irreligion  which  such  men 
hate  ;  but  the  religion  of  the  man,  or  the  party,  whom  we 
are  set  against ;  now  hatred  is  certainly  no  part  ot  the  re- 
ligion of  the  gospel.  Well,  you  have  told  me  why  you  go 
to  church  ;  now  pray  tell  me,  why  do  you  confess  there  on 
your  bended  knees,  every  Sunday,  that  "  you  have  erred 
and  strayed  from  God's  ways  ?"  "  that  there  is  no  health  in 
you  ?  that  you  have  done  what  you  ought  not  to  do  ?  and 
that  you  are  a  miserable  sinner  ?" 

JSragwell.  Because  it  is  in  the  Common  Prayer  Book,  to 
be  sure ;  a  book  which  I  have  heard  you  yourself  say  was 
written  by  wise  and  good  men  ;  the  glory  of  Christianity, 
the  pillars  of  the  Protestant  church. 

Worthy.  But  have  you  no  other  reason  ? 

JJragwell.  No,  I  can't  say  I  have. 

Worthy.  When  you  repeat  that  excellent  form  of 
confession,  do  you  really  feel  that  you  are  a  miserable 
sinner  ? 

JSragwell.  No,  I  can't  say  I  do.  But  that  is  no  objec- 
tion to  my  repeating  it :  because  it  may  suit  the  case  of 
many  who  are  so.  I  suppose  the  good  doctors  who  drew  it 
up,  intended  that  part  for  wicked  people  only,  such  as 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.    BEAGWELL,       331 

drunkards,  and  thieves,  and  murderers  ;  for  I  imagine  they 
could  not  well  contrive  to  make  the  same  prayer  quite  suit 
an  honest  man  and  a  rogue  ;  and  so  I  suppose  they  thought 
it  better  to  make  a  good  man  repeat  a  prayer  which  suited 
a  rogue,  than  to  make  a  rogue  repeat  a  prayer  which  suited 
a  good  man  ;  and  you  know  it  is  so  customary  for  every 
body  to  repeat  the  general  confession,  that  it  can't  hurt  the 
credit  of  the  most  respectable  persons,  though  every  respect- 
able person  must  know  they  have  no  particular  concern  in 
it ;  as  they  are  not  sinners. 

Worthy.  Depend  upon  it,  Mr.  Bragwell,  those  good  doc- 
tors you  speak  of,  were  not  quite  of  your  opinion  ;  they 
really  thought  that  what  you  call  honest  men  were  grievous 
sinners  in  a  certain  sense,  and  that  the  best  of  us  stand  ir 
need  of  making  that  humble  confession.  Mr.  Bragwell,  do 
you  believe  in  the  fall  of  Adam  ? 

Bragwell.  To  be  sure  I  do,  and  a  sad  thing  for  Adam  it 
ivas;  why,  it  is  in  the  Bible,  is  it  not?  It  is  one  of  the 
orettiest  chapters  in  Genesis.  Don't  you  believe  it,  Mr. 
Worthy  ? 

Worthy.  Yes,  truly  I  do.  But  I  don't  believe  it  merely 
because  I  read  it  in  Genesis;  though  I  know,  indeed,  that 
I  am  bound  to  believe  every  part  of  tin-  word  of  God.  But 
I  have  still  an  additional  reason  for  believing  in  the  fall  of 
the  first  man. 

Bragwell.  Have  you,  indeed  ?  Now,  I  can't  guess  what 
that  can  he. 

Worthy.  Why,  my  own  observation  of  what  is  within 
myself  teaches  me  to  believe  it.  It  is  not  only  the  third 
chapter  of  Genesis  which  convinces  me  of  the  truth  of  the 
fall,  hut  also  the  sinful  inclinations  which  I  find  in  my 
own  heart  corresponding  with  it.  This  is  one  of  those 
leading  truths  of  Christianity  of  which  I  can  never  doubt 
a  moment :  first  because  it  is  abundantly  expressed  or  im- 


332  THE     TWO     WEALTHY 

plied  in  Scripture  ;  and  next,  because  the  consciousness  of 
the  evil  nature,  I  cany  about  me  confirms  the  doctrine 
beyond  all  doubt.  Besides,  is  it  not  said  in  Scripture,  that 
by  one  man  sin  entered  into  the  world,  and  that  "  all  we, 
like  lost  sheep,  have  gone  astray  ?"  "  that  by  one  man's  dip- 
obedience  many  were  made  sinners  ?"  and  so  again  in  twenty 
more  places  that  I  could  tell  you  of? 

Bragwell.  Well ;  I  never  thought  of  this.  But  is  not 
this  a  very  melancholy  sort  of  doctrine,  Mr.  Worthy  ? 

Worthy.  It  is  melancholy,  indeed,  if  we  stop  here.  But 
while  we  are  deploring  this  sad  truth,  let  us  take  comfort 
from  another,  that  "  as  in  Adam  all  die,  so  in  Christ  shall 
all  be  made  alive." 

Bragwell.  Yes ;  I  remember  I  thought  those  very  fine 
words,  when  I  heard  them  said  over  my  poor  father's  grave. 
But  as  it  was  in  the  burial  of  the  dead,  I  did  not  think  of 
taking  it  to  myself;  for  I  was  then  young  and  hearty,  and 
in  little  danger  of  dying,  and  I  have  been  so  busy  ever 
since,  that  I  have  hardly  had  time  to  think  of  it. 

Worthy.  And  yet  the  service  pronounced  at  the  burial 
of  all  who  die,  is  a  solemn  admonition  to  all  who  live.  It 
is  there  said,  as  indeed  the  Scripture  says  also,  "  I  am  the 
resurrection  and  the  life  ;  whosoever  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die,  but  I  will  raise  him  up  at  the  last  day."  Now 
do  you  think  you  believe  in  Christ,  Mr.  Bragwell  ? 

Bragwell.  To  be  sure  I  do ;  why  you  are  always  fancying 
me  an  atheist. 

Worthy.  In  order  to  believe  in  Christ,  we  must  believe 
first  in  our  own  guilt  and  our  own  unworthiness  ;  and  when 
we  do  this  we  shall  see  the  use  of  a  Saviour,  and  not  till  then. 

Bragwell.  Why,  all  this  is  a  new  way  of  talking.  I 
can't  say  I  ever  meddled  with  such  subjects  before  in  my 
life.  But  now,  what  do  you  advise  a  man  to  do  upon  your 
plan  of  religion  ? 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       333 

Worthy.  Why,  all  this  leads  me  back  to  the  ground 
from  which  we' set  out,  I  mean  the  duty  of  prayer;  for  if 
we  believe  that  we  have  an  evil  nature  within  us,  and  that 
we  stand  in  need  of  God's  grace  to  help  us,  and  a  Savioui 
to  redeem  us,  we  shall  be  led  of  course  to  pray  for  what 
we  so  much  need  ;  and  without  this  conviction  we  shall  not 
be  led  to  pray. 

Bragwcll.  Well,  but  don't  you  think,  Mr.  Worthy,  that 
you  good  folks  who  make  so  much  of  prayer,  have  lower 
notions  than  we  have  of  the  wisdom  of  the  Almighty  ? 
You  think  he  wants  to  be  informed  of  the  thing  you  tell 
him  ;  whereas,  I  take  it  for  granted  that  he  knows  them 
already,  and  that,  being  so  good  as  he  is,  he  will  give  me 
every  thing  he  sees  fit  to  give  me,  without  my  asking  it. 

Worthy.  God,  indeed,  who  knows  all  things,  knows  what 
we  want  before  we  ask  him  ;  but  still  has  he  not  said  that, 
"  with  prayer  and  supplication  we  must  make  known  our 
requests  unto  him  ?"  Prayer  is  the  way  in  which  God  has 
said  that  his  favor  must  be  sought.  It  is  the  channel 
throuo-h  which  he  has  declared  it  his  sovereign  will  and 
pleasure  that  his  blessings  should  be  conveyed  to  us.  What 
ascends  up  in  prayer,  descends  to  us  again  in  blessings.  It 
is  like  the  rain  which  just  now  fell,  and  which  had  been 
drawn  up  from  the  ground  in  vapors  to  the  clouds  hefore  it 
descended  from  them  to  the  earth  in  that  refreshing  shower. 
Besides  prayer  has  a  good  effect  on  our  minds ;  it  tends  to 
excite  a  right  disposition  toward  God  in  us,  and  to  keep  up 
a  constant  sense  of  our  dependence.  But  above  all,  it  is 
the  way  to  get  the  good  things  we  want.  "  Ask,"  says  the 
Scripture,  "  and  ye  shall  receive." 

JBragwell.  Now,  thai  is  the  very  thing  which  I  was  going 
to  deny:  for  the  truth  is,  men  do  not  always  get  what  they 
ask;  I  believe  if  I  cojild  gel  a  good  crop  for  asking  it,  I 
would  pray  oftener  than  I  do. 


334  THE     TWO     WEALTHY    FARMERS; 

Worthy.  Sometimes,  Mr.  Bragwell,  men  "ask  and  re- 
ceive not,  because  they  ask  amiss;"  "they  ask  that  tli  • 
may  consume  it  on  their  lusts."  They  ask  worldly  U  - 
.  perhaps,  when  they  should  ask  spiritual  ones.  Now, 
the  latter,  which  are  the  good  things  1  spoke  of,  are  always 
granted  to  those  who  pray  to  God  for  them,  though  the 
former  are  not.  I  have  observed  in  the  case  of  some 
worldly  things  I  have  sought  for,  that  the  grant  of  my 
prayer  would  have  caused  the  misery  of  my  life  ;  so  that 
God  equally  consults  our  good  in  what  he  withholds,  and 
in  what  he  bestows. 

Bragwell.  And  jTet  you  continne  to  pray  on,  I  suppose  ? 

Worthy.  Certainly ;  but  then  I  try  to  mend  as  to  the 
object  of  my  prayers.  I  pray  for  God's  blessing  and  favor, 
which  is  better  than  riches. 

Bragwell.  You  seem  very  earnest  on  this  subject. 

Worthy.  To  cut  the  matter  short  ;  I  ask  then,  whether 
prayer  is  not  positively  commas  led  in  the  gospel  ?  When 
this  is  the  case,  we  can  uever  dispute  about  the  necessity  or 
the  duty  of  a  thing,  as  we  may  when  there  is  no  such  com- 
mand. Here,  however,  let  me  just  add  also,  that  a  man's 
prayers  may  be  turned  into  no  small  use  in  the  way  of  dis- 
covering to  him  whatever  is  amiss  in  his  life. 

Bragwell.  How  so,  Mr.  Worthy  ? 

Worthy.  Why,  suppose  now,  you  were  to  try  yourself 
by  turning  into  the  shape  of  a  prayer  every  practice  in 
which  you  allow  yourself.  For  instance,  let  the  prayer  in 
the  morning  be  a  sort  of  preparation  for  the  deeds  of  the 
day,  and  the  prayer  at  night  a  sort  of  retrospection  of  those 
deeds.  You,  Mr.  Bragwell,  I  suspect,  are  a  little  inclined 
to  covetousness ;  excuse  me,  sir.  Now,  suppose  after  you 
have  been  during  a  whole  day  a  little  too  eager  to  get  rich  ; 
suppose,  I  say,  you  were  to  try  how  it  would  sound  to  beg 
of  God  at   night  on  your  knees,  to  give  you   still  more 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.      335 

money,  though  jrou  have  already  so  much  that  you  know 
not  what  to  do  with  it.  Suppose  you  were  to  pray  in  the 
rnorning,  "O  Lord,  give  me  more  riches,  though  those 
I  have  are  a  snare  and  a  temptatiou  to  me  ;"  and  ask  him 
in  the  same  solemn  manner  to  bless  all  the  grasping  means 
you  intend  to  make  use  of  in  the  day,  to  add  to  your  sub- 
stance ? 

Bragwell.  Mr.  Worthy,  I  have  no  patience  with  you  foi 
thinking  I  could  be  so  wicked. 

Worthy.  Yet  to  make  such  a  covetous  prayer  as  this  is 
hardly  more  wicked,  or  more  absurd,  than  to  lead  the  life 
of  the  covetous,  by  sinning  up  to  the  spirit  of  that  very 
prayer  which  you  would  not  have  the  courage  to  put  into 
words.  Still  further  observe  how  it  would  sound  to  confess 
your  sins,  and  pray  against  them  all,  except  one  favorite 
sin.  "  Lord,  do  thou  enable  me  to  forsake  all  my  sins,  ex- 
cept the  love  of  money  ;"  "  in  this  one  thing  pardon  thy 
servant."  Or,  "  Do  thou  enable  me  to  forgive  all  who 
have  injured  me,  except  old  Giles."  This  you  will  object 
against  as  a  wicked  prayer,  it  must  be  wicked  in  practice. 
It  is  even  the  more  shocking  to  make  it  the  language  of 
the  heart,  or  of  the  life,  than  of  the  lips.  And  yet,  because 
you  have  been  used  to  see  people  act  thus,  and  have  not 
been  used  to  hear  them  pray  thus,  you  are  shocked  at  the 
one,  and  not  shocked  at  the  other. 

Bragivell.  Shocked,  indeed  !  Why,  at  this  rate,  you  would 
teach  one  to  hate  one's  self. 

Worthy.  Hear  me  out,  Mr.  Bragwell  ;  you  turned  your 
good  nephew,  Tom  Broad,  out  of  doors,  you  know  ;  you 
owned  to  me  it  was  an  act  of  injustice.  Now,  suppose  on 
the  morning  of  your  doing  so  you  had  begged  of  God,  in 
a  solemn  act  of  prayer,  to  prosper  the  deed  of  cruelty  and 
oppression,  which  you  intended  to  commit  that  day.  I  see 
you  are  shocked  at  the  thought  of  such  a  prayer      Well, 


330  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS: 

then,  would  not  hearty  prayer  have  kept  you  from  commit- 
ting  that  wicked  action  ?  In  short,  what  a  life  must  that  be, 
no  act  of  which  you  dare  beg  God  to  prosper  and  bless  ? 
If  once  you  can  bring  yourself  to  believe  that  it  is  your 
bouuden  duty  to  pray  for  God's  blessing  on  )7our  day's  work, 
you  will  certainly  grow  careful  about  passing  such  a  day  as 
you  may  safely  ask  his  blessing  upon.  The  remark  may  be 
carried  to  sports,  diversions,  company.  A  man,  who  once 
takes  up  the  serious  use  of  prayer,  will  soon  find  himself 
obliged  to  abstain  from  such  diversions,  occupations,  and 
societies,  as  he  can  not  reasonably  desire  that  God  will 
bless  to  him ;  and  thus  he  will  see  himself  compelled  to 
leave  off  either  the  practice  or  the  prayer.  Now,  Mr.  Brag- 
well,  I  need  not  ask  you  which  of  the  two  he  that  is  a  real 
Christian  will  give  up,  sinning  or  praying. 

Mr.  Bragwell  beii'an  to  feel  that  he  had  not  the  best  of 
the  argument,  and  was  afraid  he  was  making  no  great  figure 
in  the  eyes  of  his  friend.  Luckily,  however,  he  was  re- 
lieved from  the  difficulty  into  which  the  necessity  of  mak- 
ing some  answer  must  have  brought  him,  by  finding  they 
were  come  to  the  end  of  their  little  journey  :  and  he  never 
beheld  the  bunch  of  grapes,  which  decorated  the  sign  of 
the  Golden  Lion,  with  more  real  satisfaction. 

I  refer  my  readers  for  the  transactions  at  the  Golden 
Lion,  and  for  the  sad  adventures  which  afterward  befell  Mr. 
Bragwell's  family,  to  the  fifth  part  of  the  History  of  the 
Two  Wealthy  Farmers. 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       33*7 


PART    V. 

THE    GOLDEN    LION. 

Mr.  Bragwell  and  Mr.  Worthy  alighted  at  the  Golden 
Lion.  It  was  market-day  :  the  inn,  the  yard,  the  town  was 
all  alive.  Bragwell  was  quite  in  his  element.  Money,  com- 
pany, and  good  cheer  always  set  his  spirits  afloat.  lie  felt 
himself  the  principal  man  in  the  scene.  He  had  three 
great  objects  in  view  ;  the  sale  of  his  land  ;  the  letting  Mr 
Worthy  see  how  much  he  was  looked  up  to  by  so  manv 
substantial  people,  and  the  showing  these  people  what  a 
wise  man  his  most  intimate  friend,  Mr.  Worthy  was.  It  was 
his  way  to  try  to  borrow  a'  little  credit  from  every  person, 
and  every  thing  he  was  connected  with,  and  by  the  credit  to 
advance  his  interest  and  increase  his  wealth. 

The  farmers  met  in  a  large  room  ;  and  while  they  were 
transacting  their  various  concerns,  those  whose  pursuits 
were  the  same  naturally  herded  together.  The  tanners 
were  drawn  to  one  corner,  by  the  common  interest  which 
they  took  in  bark  and  hides.  A  useful  debate  was  carrying 
on  at  another  little  table,  whether  the  practice  of  sowing 
wheat  or  of  planting  it  were  must  profitable.  Another  set 
were  disputing  whether  horses  or  oxen  were  best  for  plowing. 
Those  who  were  concerned  in  canals,  sought  the  company 
of  other  canalers ;  while  some,  who  were  interested  in  the 
new  bill  for  inclosures,  wisely  looked  out  for  such  as  knew 
most  about  waste  lands. 

Mr.  Worthy  was  pleased  with  all  these  subjects,  and 
picked  up  something  useful  on  each.  Itwasasaying  of  his, 
that  most  men  understood  some  one  thing,  and  that  he  who 
was  wise  would  try  to  learn  from  every  man  something  on 

15 


338  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

the  subject  lie  best  knew ;  but  Mr  Worthy  made  a  further 
use  of  the  whole  What  a  pity  is  it,  said  he,  that  Christians 
are  not  so  desirous  to  turn  their  time  to  good  account  as  men 
of  business  are !  When  shall  we  see  religious  persons  as 
anxious  to  derive  profit  from  the  experience  of  others  as  these 
farmers  ?  When  shall  we  see  them  as  eager  to  turn  their 
time  to  good  account  ?  While  I  approve  these  men  for  not 
being  slothful  in  business,  let  me  improve  the  hint,  by  being 
also  fervent  in  spirit. 

SHOWING  HOW  MUCH  WISER  THE  CHILDREN  OF    THIS  GENE- 
RATION ARE  THAN  THE  CHILDREN  OF  LIGHT. 

When  the  hurry  was  a  little  over,  Mr.  Bragwell  took  a  turn 
on  the  bowling-green.  Mr.  Worthy  followed  him,  to  ask  why 
the  sale  of  the  estate  was  not  brought  forward.  "  Let  the 
auctioneer  proceed  to  business,"  said  he ;  "  the  company  will 
be  glad  to-  get  home  by  daylight.  I  speak  mostly  with  a 
view  to  others;  for  I  do  not  think  of  being  a  purchaser  my- 
self." "  I  know  it,"  said  Bragwell,  "or  I  would  not  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag.  But  is  it  really  possi- 
ble," proceeded  he,  with  a  smile  of  contempt,  "  that  you  should 
think  I  will  sell  my  estate  before  dinner  ?  Mr.  Worthy,  you 
i  clever  man  at  books,  and  such  things ;  and  perhaps 
can  make  out  an  account  on  paper  in  a  handsomer  manner 
than  I  can.  But  I  never  found  much  was  to  be  got  by  fine 
writing.  As  to  figures,  I  can  carry  enough  of  them  in  my 
head  to  add,  divide,  and  multiply  more  money  than  your 
Learning  will  ever  give  you  the  fingering  of.  You  may  beat 
me  at  a  book,  but  you  are  a  very  child  at  a  bargain.  Sell 
my  land  before  dinner,  indeed  !" 

Mr.  Worthy  was  puzzled  to  guess  how  a  man  was  to 
show  more  wisdom  by  selling  a  piece  of  ground  at  one  hour 
than  another,  and  desired  an  explanation.  Bragwell  felt 
rather  more  contempt  for  his  understanding  than  he  had 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF    MR.     BRAGWELL.       33'J 

ever  done  before.  "  Look'ee,  Mr.  Worthy,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not 
think  that  knowledge  is  of  any  use  to  a  man,  unless  he  ha? 
sense  enough  to  turn  it  to  account.  Men  are  my  books,  Mr. 
Worthy ;  and  it  is  by  reading,  spelling,  and  putting  them 
together  to  good  purpose,  that  I  have  got  up  in  the  world.  I 
shall  give  you  a  proof  of  this  to-day.  These  farmers  are  most 
of  them  come  to  the  Lion  with  a  view  of  purchasing  this  bit 
of  land  of  mine,  if  they  should  like  the  bargain.  Now,  as 
you  know  a  thing  can't  be  any  great  bargain  both  to  the 
buyer  and  the  seller  too,  to  them  and  to  me,  it  becomes  me 
as  a  man  of  sense,  who  has  the  good  of  his  family  at  heart,  to 
secure  the  bargain  to  myself.  I  would  not  cheat  any  man, 
sir,  but  I  think  it  fair  enough  to  turn  his  weakness  to  my 
own  advantage  ;  there  is  no  law  against  that,  you  know  ;  and 
this  is  the  use  of  one  man's  having  more  sense  than  another. 
So,  whenever  I  have  a  piece  of  land  to  sell,  I  always  give 
a  handsome  dinner,  with  plenty  of  punch  and  strong  beer. 
We  fill  up  the  morning  with  other  business ;  and  I  carefully 
keep  back  my  talk  about  the  purchase  till  we  have  dined. 
At  dinner  we  have,  of  course  a  slice  of  politics.  This  puts 
most  of  us  into  a  passion,  and  you  know  anger  is  thirsty. 
Besides  '  Church  and  King'  naturally  brings  on  a  good 
many  other  toasts.  Now,  as  I  am  master  of  the  feast,  you 
know  it  would  be  shabby  in  me  to  save  my  liquor;  sol 
push  about  the  glass  one  way,  and  the  tankard  the  other, 
till  all  my  company  are  as  merry  as  kings.  Every  man  is 
delighted  to  see  whai  a  fine  hearty  fellow  he  has  to  deal 
with,  and  Mr.  Bragwell  receives  a  thousand  compliments. 
By  this  time  they  have  gained  as  much  in  good  humor  as 
they  have  lost  in  sober  judgment,  and  this  is  the  proper  mo- 
ment for  setting  the  auctioneer  to  work,  and  this  I  com- 
monly do  to  such  good  purpose,  that  I  go  home  with  my 
purse  a  score  or  two  pounds  heavier  than  '■•  they  had  not 
been  warmed  by  their  dinner.     In   the  morning  men  are 


340  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

cool  and  suspicious,  and  have  all  their  wits  about  them  ;  but 
a  cheerful  glass  cures  all  distrust.  And  what  is  lucky,  I 
add  to  rny  credit  as  well  as  my  pocket,  and  get  more  praise 
for  my  dinner  than  blame  for  my  bargain." 

Mr.  Worthy  was  struck  with  the  absurd  vanity  which 
could  tempt  a  man  to  own  himself  guilty  of  an  unfair 
action  for  the  sake  of  showing  his  wisdom.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  express  his  disapprobation,  when  they  were  told 
dinner  was  on  the  table.  They  went  in,  and  were  soon  seated. 
All  was  mirth  and  good  cheer.  Every  body  agreed  that  no 
one  gave  such  hearty  dinners  as  Mr.  Bragwell.  Nothing 
was  pitiful  where  he  was  master  of  the  feast.  Bragwell, 
who  looked  with  pleasure  on  the  excellent  dinner  before 
him,  and  enjoyed  the  good  account  to  which  he  should  turn 
it,  heard  their  praises  with  delight,  and  cast  an  eye  on 
Worthy,  as  much  as  to  say  Who  is  the  wise  man  now  ?  Hav- 
ing a  mind,  for  his  own  credit,  to  make  his  friend  talk,  he 
turned  to  him  saying,  "  Mr.  Worthy,  I  believe  no  people  in 
the  world  enjoy  life  more  than  men  of  our  class.  We  have 
money  and  power,  we  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  have 
as  good  right  to  gentility  as  the  best." 

"As  to  gentility,  Mr.  Bragwell,"  replied  Worthy,  "I  am  not 
sure  that  this  is  among  the  wisest  of  our  pretensions.  But 
I  will  cay,  that  ours  is  a  creditable  and  respectable  business. 
In  ancient  times,  farming  was  the  employment  of  princes 
and  patriarchs  ;  and,  now-a-days,  an  honest,  humane,  sens- 
ible, English  yeoman,  I  will  be  hold  to  say,  is  not  only  a 
very  useful,  but  an  honorable  character.  But  then,  he 
must  not  merely  think  of  enjoying  life  as  you  call  it,  but  he 
must  think  of  living  up  to  the  great  ends  for  which  he  was 
sent  into  the  world.  A  wealthy  farmer  not  only  has  it  in 
his  power  to  live  well,  but  to  do  much  good.  He  is  not 
only  the  father  cf  hi<  own  family,  but  his  workmen,  his  de- 
pendants, and  the  poor  at  large,  especially  in  these  hard 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OP     MR.     BRAGWELL.       341 

times.  He  has  in  his  power  to  raise  into  credit  all  the 
parish  offices  which  have  fallen  into  disrepute  by  getting 
into  had  hands;  and  he  can  convert,  what  have  been 
falsely  thought  mean  offices,  into  very  important  ones,  by 
his  just  and  Christian-like  manner  of  filling  them.  An 
upright  juryman,  a  conscientious  constable,  a  humane 
overseer,  an  independent  elector,  an  active  superintendent 
of  a  work-house,  a  just  arbitrator  in  public  disputes,  a 
kind  counselor  in  private  troubles  ;  such  a  one,  I  say,  fills 
up  a  station  in  society  no  less  necessary,  and,  as  far  as  it 
reaches,  scarcely  less  important  than  that  of  a  magistrate, 
a  sheriff  of  a  county,  or  even  a  member  of  parliament. 
That  can  never  be  a  slight  or  degrading  office,  on  which  the 
happiness  of  a  whole  parish  may  depend." 

Bragwell,  who  thought  the  good  sense  of  his  friend  re- 
flected credit  on  himself,  encouraged  Worthy  to  go  on,  but  he 
did  it  in  his  own  vain  way.  "  Ay,  very  true,  Mr.  Worthy," 
said  he,  "  you  are  right ;  a  leading  man  in  our  class  ought  to 
be  looked  up  to  as  an  example,  as  you  say  ;  in  order  to 
which,  he  should  do  things  handsomely  and  liberally,  and 
not  grudge  himself,  or  his  friends,  any  thing ;"  casting  an 
eye  of  complacency  on  the  good  dinner  he  had  provided. 
"True,"  replied  Mr.  Worthy,  "  he  should  be  an  example  of 
simplicity,  sobriety,  and  plainness  of  manners.  But  he  will 
do  well,"  added  he,  "not  to  affect  a  frothy  gentility,  which 
will  sit  but  clumsily  upon  him.  If  he  has  money,  let  him 
spend  prudently,  lay  up  moderately  for  his  children,  and 
give  liberally  to  the  poor.  But  let  him  rather  seek  to  dig- 
nity his  own  station  by  bis  virtues,  than  to  get  above  it  by 
bis  vanity.  If  be  acts  thus,  then,  as  long  as  bis  country 
lasts,  a  farmer  of  England  will  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  its 
most  valuable  members  ;  nay  more,  by  this  conduct,  lie  may 
contribute  to  make  England  last  the  longer.  The  riches  of 
the  fanner,  corn  and  cattle,  are  the  true  riches  of  a  nation; 


342  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

but  let  him  remember,  that  though  corn  and  cattle  enrich  a 
country,  nothing  but  justice,  integrity,  and  religion,  can 
preserve  it." 

Here  one  of  the  company,  who  was  known  to  be  a  man 
of  loose  principles,  and  who  seldom  went  to  public  worship, 
said  he  had  no  objection  to  religion,  and  was  always  ready 
to  testify  his  regard  to  it  by  drinking  church  and  king.  On 
this  Mr.  Worthy  remarked,  that  he  was  afraid  that  too 
many  contented  themselves  with  making  this  toast  include 
the  whole  of  their  religion,  if  not  of  their  loyalty.  "  It  is 
with  real  sorrow,"  continued  he,  "  that  I  am  compelled  to  ob- 
serve, that  though  there  are  numberless  honorable  instances 
to  the  contrary,  yet  I  have  seen  more  contempt  and  neglect 
of  Christianity  in  men  of  our  calling,  than  in  almost  any 
other.  They  too  frequently  hate  the  rector  on  account  of 
his  tithes,  to  which  he  has  as  good  a  right  as  they  have  to 
their  farms,  and  the  curat e  on  account  of  his  poverty  ;  but 
the  truth  is,  religion  itself  is  often  the  concealed  object  of 
their  dislike.  I  know  too  many,  who,  while  they  affect  a 
violent  outv,  ird  zeal  for  the  church,  merely  because  they 
conceive  its  security  to  be  somehow  connected  with  their 
own  political  a  1  vantages,  yet  prove  the  hollowness  of  their  at 
tachment,  by  s!  owing  little  regard  to  its  ministers,  and  less 
to  its  ordinance-." 

Young  Wilson,  the  worthy  grazier,  whom  Miss  Bragwell 
turned  off  because  lie  did  not  understand  French  dances, 
thanked  Mr.  Worthy  for  what  lie  had  said,  and  hoped  he 
should  be  the  better  U-.v  it  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  desired 
his  leave  to  be  better  acquainted.  Most  of  the  others  de- 
clared they  had  never  heard  a  finer  speech,  and  then,  as  i? 
usual,  proceeded  to  show  the  good  effect  it  had  on  them, 
by  loose  conversation,  hard  drinking,  and  whatever  could 
counteract  all  that  Worthy  had  been  saying. 

Mr.  Worthy  was  much  concerned  to  hear  Mr.  Bragwell, 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.      3-13 

after  dinner,  whisper  to  the  waiter,  to  put  less  and  less  wa- 
ter into  every  fresh  howl  of  punch.  This  was  his  old  way  ; 
if  the  time  they  had  to  sit  was  long,  then  the  punch  was  to 
be  weaker,  as  he  saw  no  good  in  wasting  money  to  make  it 
stronger  than  the  time  required.  But  if  time  pressed,  then 
the  strength  was  to  be  increased  in  due  proportion,  as  a 
small  quantity  must  then  intoxicate  tbem  as  much  in  a 
short  time  as  would  be  required  of  a  greater  quantity  had 
the  time  been  longer.  This  was  one  of  Mr.  BragwelFs  nice 
calculations  ;  and  this  was  the  sort  of  skill  on  which  he  so 
much  valued  himself. 

At  length  the  guests  were  properly  primed  for  business ; 
just  in  that  convenient  stage  of  intoxication  which  makes 
men  warm  and  rash,  yet  keeps  short  of  that  absolute  drunk- 
enness which  disqualifies  for  business,  the  auctioneer  set  to 
work.  All  were  bidders,  and,  if  possibly,  all  would  have 
been  purchasers ;  so  happily  had  the  feast  and  the  punch 
operated.  They  bid  on  with  a  still  increasing  spirit,  till 
they  got  so  much  above  the  value  of  the  land,  that  Brag- 
well  with  a  wink  and  a  whisper,  said  :  "Who  would  sell  his 
land  fasting  ?  Eh  !  Worthy  V  At  length  the  estate  was 
knocked  down,  at  a  price  very  far  above  its  worth. 

As  soon  as  it  was  sold,  Bragwell  again  said  softly  to 
Worthy,  "  Five  from  fifty  and  there  remain  forty-five.  The 
dinner  and  drink  won't  cost  me  five  pounds,  and  I  have  got 
fifty  more  than  t lie,  land  was  worth.  Spend  a  shilling  to 
gain  a  pound!  This  is  what  I  call  practical  arithmetic, 
Mr.  Worthy." 

Mr.  Worthy  was  glad  to  gel  out  of  this  scene;  and  see- 
ing  that  his  friend  was  quite  sober,  he  resolved  as  theyrode 
home,  to  deal  plainly  with  him.  Bragwell  had  found  out, 
among  his  calculations,  thai  there  were  some  sins  which 
could  only  be  committed,  by  a  prudent  man,  one  al  a  time. 
For  instance,  he  knew  that  a  man  could  not  well  get  rich 


344  THE     TWO      WEALTHY     FARMERS', 

and  get  drunk  at  the  same  moment ;  so  that  he  used  to 
l>ni  „ice  one  first,  and  the  other  after;  hut  he  had  found 
out  that  some  vices  made  very  good  company  together ; 
thus,  while  he  had  watched  himself  in  drinking,  lest  he 
should  become  as  unfit  to  sell  as  his  guests  were  to  buy,  he, 
had  indulged,  without  measure,  in  the  good  dinner  he  had 
provided.  Mr.  Worthy,  I  say,  seeing  him  able  to  bear 
reason,  rebuked  him  for  this  day's  proceedings  with  some 
severity.  Bragwell  bore  his  reproofs  with  that  sort  of 
patience  which  arises  from  an  opinion  of  one's  own  wisdom, 
accompanied  by  a  recent  flush  of  prosperity.  He  behaved 
with  that  gay  good  humor,  which  grows  out  of  united  van- 
ity and  good  fortune.  "  You  are  too  squeamish,  Mr. 
Worthy,"  said  he,  "  I  have  done  nothing  discreditable. 
These  men  came  with  their  open  eyes.  There  is  no  com- 
pulsion used.  They  are  free  to  bid  or  to  let  it  alone.  [ 
make  them  welcome,  and  I  shall  not  be  thought  a  bit  tlie 
worse  of  by  them  to-morrow,  when  they  are  sober.  Others 
do  it  besides  me,  and  I  shall  never  be  ashamed  of  any  thing 
as  long  as  I  have  custom  on  my  side." 

Worthy.  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Bragwell,  to  hear  you  support 
such  practices  by  such  arguments.  There  is  not,  perhaps, 
a  more  dangerous  snare  to  the  souls  of  men  than  is  to  be 
found  in  that  wok!  custom.  It  is  a  word  invented  to  recon- 
cile corruption  with  credit,  and  sin  with  safety.  But  no 
custom,  no  fashion,  no  combination  of  men,  to  set  up  a  false 
standard  can  ever  make  a  wrong;  action  right.  That  a 
thing  is  often  done,  is  so  far  from  a  proof  of  its  being  right, 
that  it  is  the  very  reason  which  will  set  a  thiuking  man  to 
inquire  if  it  be  not  really  wrong,  lest  he  should  be  following 
"  a  multitude  to  do  evil."  Right  is  right,  though  only  one 
man  in  a  thousand  pursues  it ;  and  wrong  will  be  forever 
wrong,  though  it  be  the  allowed  practice  of  the  other  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-nine.    If  this  shameful  custom  be  really 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.    BBAflWELL.       345 

common,  which  I  can  hardly  believe,  that  is  a  fresh  reason 
why  a  conscientious  man  should  set  his  face  against  it. 
And  I  must  go  so  far  as  to  say  (you  will  excuse  me,  Mr. 
Bragwell)  that  I  see  no  great  difference,  in  the  eye  of  con- 
science, whatever  there  may  be  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  be- 
tween your  making  a  man  first  lose  his  reason,  and  then 
getting  fifty  guineas  out  of  his  pocket,  because  he  has  lost 
it,  and  your  picking  the  fifty  guineas  out  of  his  pocket,  if 
you  had  met  him  dead  drunk  in  his  way  home  to-night. 
Kay,  he  who  meets  a  man  already  drunk  and  robs  him, 
commits  but  one  sin ;  while  he  who  makes  him  drunk  first 
that  he  may  rob  him  afterward,  commits  two. 

Bragwell  gravely  replied :  "  Mr.  Worthy,  while  I  have 
the  practice  of  people  of  credit  to  support  me,  and  the  law 
of  the  laud*to  protect  me,  I  see  no  reason  to  bo  ashamed  of 
any  thing  I  do."  "  Mr.  Bragwell,"  answered  Worthy,  "  a 
truly  honest  man  is  not  always  looking  sharp  about  him,  to 
see  how  far  custom  aud  the  law  will  bear  him  out ;  if  he 
be  honest  on  principle,  he  will  consult  the  law  of  his  con- 
science, and  if  he  be  a  Christian,  he  will  consult  the  writ- 
ten law  of  God.  We  never  deceive  ourselves  more  than 
when  we  overreach  others.  You  would  not  allow  that  you 
had  robbed  your  neighbor  for  the  world,  yet  you  are  not 
ashamed  to  own  you  have  outwitted  him.  I  have  read  this 
great  truth  in  the  works  of  a  heathen,  Mr.  Bragwell,  that 
the  chief  misery  of  man  arises  from  his  not  knowing  how 
to  make  right  calculations." 

Bragwell.  Sir,  the  remark  does  not  belong  to  me.  I  have 
not  made  an  error  of  a  farthing.   Look  at  the  account,  sir — 

right  to  the  smallest    fraction. 

Worth)/.  Sir,  L  am  talking  of  final  accounts;  spiritual 
calculations;  arithmetic  in  the  long  run.  Now,  in  this, 
your  real  (  ihxistian  is  the  only  true  calculator  ;  he  has  found 
out  that  we  shall  be  richer  in  the  end,  by  denying,  than  by 

15* 


346  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

indulging  ourselves.  He  knows  that  when  the  balance 
comes  to  be  struck,  when  profit  and  loss  shall  be  summed 
up,  and  the  final  account  adjusted,  that  whatever  ease,  pros- 
perity, and  delight  we  had  in  this  world,  yet  if  we  have  lost 
our  souls  in  the  end,  we  can  not  reckon  that  we  have  made 
a  good  bargain.  We  can  not  pretend  that  a  few  items  of 
present  pleasure  make  any  great  figure,  set  over  against 
the  sum  total  of  eternal  misery.  So  you  see  it  is  only  for 
want  of  a  good  head  at  calculation  that  men  prefer  time  to 
eternity,  pleasure  to  holiness,  earth  to  heaven.  You  see  if 
we  get  our  neighbor's  money  at  the  price  of  our  own  in- 
tegrity ;  hurt  his  good  name,  but  destroy  our  own  souls ; 
raise  our  outward  character,  but  wound  our  inward  con- 
science ;  when  we  come  to  the  last  reckoning,  we  shall  find 
that  we  were  only  knaves  in  the  second  instance,  but  fools 
in  the  first.  In  short,  we  shall  find  that  whatever  other 
wisdom  we  possessed,  we  were  utterly  ignorant  of  the  skill 
of  true  calculation. 

Notwithstanding  this  rebuff,  Mr.  Bragwell  got  home  in 
high  spirits,  for  no  arguments  could  hinder  him  from  feel- 
ing that  he  had  the  fifty  guineas  in  his  purse. 

There  is  to  a  worldly  man  something  so  irresistible  in  the 
actual  possession  of  present,  and  visible,  and  palpable  pleas- 
ure, that  he  considers  it  as  a  proof  of  his  wisdom  to  set 
them  in  decided  opposition  to  the  invisible  realities  of 
eternity. 

As  soon  as  Bragwell  came  in,  he  gayly  threw  the  money 
he  had  received  on  the  table,  and  desired  his  wife  to  lock  it 
up.  Instead  of  receiving  it  with  her  usual  satisfaction,  she 
burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  passion,  and  threw  it  back  to  him. 
"You  may  keep  your  cash  yourself,"  said  she.  "It  is  all 
over — we  want  no  more  money.  You  are  a  ruined  man ! 
A  wicked  creature,  scraping  and  working  as  we  have  done 
for  her!"     Bragwell  trembled,  but  durst  not  ask  what  he 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.      BRAGWELL.       347 

dreaded  to  hear,  His  wife  spared  him  the  trouble,  by  cry- 
ing out  as  soon  as  her  rage  permitted  :  "  The  girl  is  ruined ; 
Polly  is  gone  off !"  Poor  Bragwell's  heart  sunk  within 
him  ;  lie  grew  sick  and  giddy,  and  as  his  wife's  rage  swal- 
lowed up  her  grief,  so,  in  his  grief,  he  almost  forgot  bis 
anger.  The  purse  fell  from  his  hand,  and  be  cast  a  look  of 
anguish  upon  it,  finding,  for  the  first  time,  that  money  could 
not  relieve  his  misery. 

Mr.  Worthy,  who,  though  much  concerned,  was  less  dis- 
composed, now  called  to  mind,  that  the  young  lady  bad  not 
returned  with  her  mother  and  sister  the  night  before  ;  be 
begged  Mrs.  Bragwell  to  explain  this  sad  story.  Sbe,  in- 
stead of  soothing  her  husband,  fell  to  reproaching  him.  "  It 
is  all  your  fault,"  said  she  ;  "  you  were  a  fool  for  your  pains. 
If  I  had  had  my  way  the  girls  would  never  have  kept  com- 
pany with  any  but  men  .of  substance,  and  then  they  could 
not  have  been  ruined."  "  Mrs.  Bragwell,"  said  Worthy, 
"  if  she  has  chosen  a  bad  man,  it  would  be  still  a  misfortune, 
even  though  be  bad  been  rich."  "O,  that  would  alter  the 
case,"  said  she,  "a, fat  sorrow  is  better  than  a  Ion  one.  But 
to  marry  a  beggar,  there  is  no  sin  like  that,"  Here  Miss 
Betsy,  who  stood  sullenly  by,  put  in  a  word,  and  said,  her 
sister,  however,  had  not  disgraced  herself  by  having  married 
a  farmer  or  a  tradesman ;  she  had,  at  least,  made  choice  of 
a  gentleman.  "  What  marriage  !  what  gentleman  !"  cried 
the  afflicted  father.  "  Tell  me  the  worst ;"  He  was  now 
informed  that  his  darling  daughter  was  gone  off  with  a 
strolling  player,  who  had  been  acting  in  the  neighboring 
villages  lately.  Miss  Betsy  again  put  in,  saying,  he  was  no 
stroller,  hut  a  jfentlemau  in  disguise,  who  only  acted  for  his 
own  diversion.  *"Does  he  so,"  said  the  now  furious  Brag- 
well, "then  lie  shall  be  transported  for  mine." 

At  this  moment  a  letter  was  brought  him  from  his  new 
pon-in-law,  who  desired  his  leave  to  wait  upon  him,  and  im- 


348  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

plore  his  forgiveness.  He  owned  he  had  been  shopman  to 
a  haberdasher ;  but  thinking  his  person  and  talents  ought 
not  to  be  thrown  away  upon  trade,  and  being  also  a  little 
behindhand,  he  had  taken  to  the  stage  with  a  view  of 
making  his  fortune  ;  that  he  had  married  Miss  Bragwell 
entirely  for  love,  and  was  sorry  to  mention  so  paltry  a  thing 
as  money,  which  he  despised,  but  that  his  wants  were  press- 
ing :  his  landlord,  to  whom  he  was  in  debt,  having  been  so 
vulgar  as  to  threaten  to  send  him  to  prison.  He  ended 
with  saying :  "  I  have  been  obliged  to  shock  your  daugh- 
ter's delicacy,  by  confessing  my  unlucky  real  name.  I  be- 
lieve I  owe  part  of  my  success  with  her,  to  my  having  as- 
sumed that  of  Augustus  Frederic  Theodosius.  She  is  in- 
consolable  at  this  confession,  which,  as  you  are  now  my 
father,  I  must  also  make  to  you,  and  subscribe  myself,  with 
many  blushes,  by  the  vulgar  name  of  your  dutiful  son, 

"  Timothy  Incle." 

"  O  !"  cried  the  afflicted  father,  as  he  tore  the  letter  in  a 
rage,  "  Miss  Bragwell  married  to  a  strolling  actor  !  How 
shall  I  bear  it  ?"  "  Why,  I  would  not  bear  it  at  all,"  cried 
the  enraged  mother ;  "  I  would  never  see  her ;  I  would 
never  forgive  her ;  I  would  let  her  starve  at  the  comer  of 
the  barn,  while  that  rascal,  with  all  those  pagan,  popish 
names,  was  ranting  away  at  the  other."  "  Nay,'  said  Miss 
Betsy,  "  if  he  is  only  a  shopman,  and  if  his  name  be  really 
Timothy  Incle,  I  would  never  forgive  her  neither.  But 
who  would  have  thought  it  by  his  looks,  and  by  his  mons- 
trous genteel  behavior  1  no,  he  never  can  have  so  vulgar  a 
name." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Worthy,  "  wete  he  really  an 
honest  haberdasher,  I  should  think  there  was  no  other  barm 
done,  except  the  disobedience  of  the  thing.  Mr.  Bragwell, 
this  is  no  time  to  blame  you,  or  hardly  to  reason  with  you. 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       349 

I  feel  for  you  sincerely.  I  ought  not,  perhaps,  just  at 
present,  to  reproach  you  for  the  mistaken  manner  in  which 
you  have  bred  up  your  daughters,  as  your  error  has  brought 
its  punishment  along  with  it.  You  now  see,  because  you 
now  feel,  the  evil  of  a  false  education.  It  lias  ruined  your 
daughter ;  your  whole  plan  unavoidably  led  to  some  such 
end.  The  large  sums  you  spent  to  qualify  them,  as  you 
thought,  for  a  high  station,  only  served  to  make  them 
despise  their  own,  and  could  do  them  nothing  but  harm, 
while  your  habits  of  life  properly  confined  them  to  company 
of  a  lower  class.  While  they  were  better  dressed  than  the 
daughters  of  the  first  gentry,  they  were  worse  taught  as  to 
real  knowledge,  than  the  daughters  of  your  plowmen.  Their 
vanity  has  been  raised  by  excessive  finery,  and  kept  alive 
by  excessive  flattery.  Every  evil  temper  has  been  fostered 
by  indulgence.  Their  pride  has  never  been  controlled  ;  their 
self-will  has  never  been  subdued  ;  their  idleness  has  laid 
them  open  to  every  temptation,  and  their  abundance  has 
enabled  them  to  gratify  every  desire ;  their  time,  that  pre- 
cious talent,  has  been  entirely  wasted.  Every  thing  they 
have  been  taught  to  do  is  of  no  use,  while  they  are  utterly 
unacquainted  with  all  which  they  ought  to  have  known.  I 
deplore  Miss  Polly's  false  step.  That  she  should  have  mar- 
ried a  runaway  shopman,  turned  stroller,  I  truly  lament. 
But  for  what  better  husband  was  she  qualified  I  For  the 
wife  of  a  farmer  she  was  too  idle  ;  for  the  wife  of  a  trades- 
man she  was  too  expensive';  for  the  wife  of  a  gentleman  she 
was  too  ignorant.  You  yourself  was  most  to  blame.  You 
expected  her  to  acl  u  i«ly,  though  you  never  (aught  her 
that  fear  of  God  which  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  I  owe 
it  to  you,  as  a  friend,  and  to  myself  as  a  Christian,  to  de- 
dal.', I  hat  your  practices  in  the  common  transactions  of 
life,  as  well  as  your  present  misfortune,  are  almost  the  nat- 


350  THE     TWO     WEALTHY    FARMERS; 

ural  consequences  of  those  false  principles  which  I  protested 
against  when  you  were  at  my  house."* 

Mrs.  Bragwell  attempted  several  times  to  interrupt  Mr. 
Worthy,  but  her  husband  would  not  permit  it.  He  felt 
the  force  of  all  his  friend  said,  and  encouraged  him  to  pro- 
ceed. Mr.  Worthy  thus  went  on  :  "It  grieves  me  to  say 
how  much  your  own  indiscretion  has  contributed  even  to 
bring  on  your  present  misfortune.  You  gave  your  counte- 
nance to  this  very  company  of  strollers,  though  you  knew 
they  were  acting  in  defiance  of  the  laws  of  the  land,  to  say 
no  worse.  They  go  from  town  to  town,  and  from  barn  to 
bam,  stripping  the  poor  of  their  money,  the  young  of  their 
innocence,  and  all  of  their  time.  Do  you  remember  with 
how  much  pride  you  told  me  that  you  had  bespoke  The 
Bold  Stroke  for  a  Wife,  for  the  benefit  of  this  very  Mr. 
Frederic  Theodosius  ?  To  this  pernicious  ribaldry  you  not 
only  carried  your  own  family,  but  wasted  I  know  not  how 
much  money  in  treating  your  workmen's  wives  and  chil- 
dren, in  these  hard  times,  too,  when  they  have  scarcely 
bread  to  eat,  or  a  shoe  on  llieir  feet ;  and  all  this  only  that 
you  might  have  the  absurd  pleasure  of  seeing  those  flatter- 
ing words,  By  desire  of  Mr.  Bragwell,  stuck  up  in  print  at 
the  public  house,  on  the  blacksmith's  shed,  at  the  turnpike- 
gate,  and  on  the  barn-door." 

Mr.  Bragwell  acknowledged  that  his  friend's  rebuke  was 
too  just,  and  he  looked  so  very  contrite  as  to  raise  the  pity 
of  Mr.  Worthy,  who,  in  a  mild  voice,  thus  went  on  :  "  What 
I  have  said  is  not  so  much  to  reproach  you  with  the  ruin 
of  one  daughter,  as  from  a  desire  to  save  the  other.  Let 
Miss  Betsy  go  home  with  me.  I  do  not  undertake  to  be 
her  jailor,  but  I  will  be  her  friend.  She  will  find  in  my 
daughters  kind  companions,  and  in  my  wife  a  prudent  guide. 
I  know, she  will  dislike  us  at  first,  but  I  do  not  despair  in 

*  See  Part  II. 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.      351 

time  of  convincing  her  that  a  sober,  humble,  useful,  pious 
life,  is  as  necessary  to  make  us  happy  on  earth,  as  it  is  to  fit 
us  for  heaven." 

Poor  Miss  Betsy,  though  she  declared  it  would  he  fright- 
ful dull,  and  monstrous  vulgar,  and  dismal  melancholy,  yet 
was  she  so  terrified  at  the  discontent  and  grumbling  which 
she  would  Lave  to  endure  at  home,  that  she  sullenly  con- 
sented. She  had  none  of  that  filial  tenderness  which  led 
her  to  wish  to  stay  and  sooth  and  comfort  her  afflicted 
father.  All  she  thought  about  was  to  get  out  of  the  way 
of  her  mother's  ill  humor,  and  to  carry  so  much  of  her  fin- 
ery with  her  as  to  fill  the  Misses  Worthy  with  envy  and 
respect.  Poor  girl !  she  did  not  know  that  envy  was  a 
feeling  they  never  indulged  ;  and  that  fine  clothes  were  the 
last  thing  to  draw  their  respect. 

Mr.  Worthy  took  her  home  next  day.  When  they  reached 
his  house  they  found  there  young  Wilson,  Miss  Betsy's  old 
admirer.  She  was  much  pleased  at  this,  and  resolved  to 
treat  him  well.  But  her  good  or  ill  treatment  now  signi- 
fied but  little.  This  young  grazier  reverenced  Mr.  W< <ri hy's 
character,  and  ever  since  he  had  met  him  at  the  Lion,  had 
been  thinking  what  a  happiness  it  would  be  to  many  a 
young  woman  bred  up  by  such  a  father.  J  If  had  heard 
much  of  the  modesty  and  discretion  of  both  the  daughters, 
but  his  inclination  now  determined  him  in  favor  of  the 
eliler. 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  knew  him  to  be  a  young  man  of  good 
sense  and  sound  principles,  allowed  him  to  become  a  visitor 
at  his  house,  hut  deferred  his  consent  to  the  marriage  till 
he  knew  him  more  thoroughly.  Mr.  Wilson, from  what  he 
saw  of  the  domestic  piety  of  this  family,  improved  daily, 
both  in  the  knowledge  and  practice  of  religion;  and  Mr. 
Worthy  soon  formed  him  into  a  most  valuable  character. 
During  this  time  Miss  Bragwell's  hopes  had  revived;  but 


352  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

though  she  appeared  in  a  new  dress  almost  every  day,  she 
had  the  mortification  of  being  beheld  with  great  indiffer- 
ence by  one  whom  she  had  always  secretly  liked.  Mr. 
Wilson  married  before  her  face  a  girl  who  was  greatly  her 
inferior  in  fortune,  person,  and  appearance  ;  but  who  was 
humble,  frugal,  meek,  and  pious.  Miss  Bragwell  now 
strongly  felt  the  truth  of  what  Mr.  Wilson  had  once  told 
her,  that  a  woman  may  make  an  excellent  partner  for  a 
dance  who  would  make  a  very  bad  companion  for  life. 

Hitherto  Mr.  Bragwell  and  his  daughters  had  only  learned 
to  regret  their  folly  and  vanity,  as  it  had  produced  them 
mortification  in  this  life ;  whether  they  were  ever  brought 
to  a  more  serious  sense  of  their  errors  may  be  seen  in  a  fu- 
ture part  of  this  history. 


PAKT   VI. 

GOOD     RESOLUTIONS. 


Mr.  Bragwell  was  so  much  afflicted  at  the  disgraceful 
marriage  of  his  daughter,  who  ran  off  with  Timothy  Incle, 
the  strolling  player,  that  he  never  fully  recovered  his  spirits. 
His  cheerfulness,  which  had  arisen  from  a  high  opinion  of 
himself,  had  been  confirmed  by  a  constant  flow  of  uninter- 
rupted success  ;  and  that  is  a  sort  of  cheerfulness  which  is 
very  liable  to  be  impaired,  because  it  lies  at  the  mercy  of 
every  accident  and  cross  event  in  life.  But  though  his 
pride  was  now  disappointed,  Ids  misfortunes  had  not  taught 
him  any  humility,  because  lie  had  not  discovered  that  they 
were  caused  by  his  own  fault ;  nor  had  he  acquired  any  pa- 
tience or  submission,  because  he  had  not  learned  that  all 
afflictions  come  from  the  hand  of  God,  to  awaken  us  to  a 


OK,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       353 

deep  sense  of  pur  sins,  and  to  draw  off  our  hearts  from  the 
perishing  vanities  of  this  life,  Besides,  Mr.  Bragwell  was 
one  of  those  people  who,  if  they  would  be  thought  to  bear 
with  tolerable  submission  such  trials  as  appear  to  be  sent 
more  immediately  from  Providence,  yet  think  they  have 
a  sort  of  right  to  rebel  at  every  misfortune  which  befalls 
them  through  the  fault  of  a  fellow-creature  ;  as  if  our  fellow- 
creatures  were  not  the  agents  and  instruments  by  which 
Providence  often  sees  fit  to  try  or  to  punish  us. 

In  answer  to  his  heavy  complaints,  Mr.  Worthy  wrote 
him  a  letter  in  which  he  expatiated  on  the  injustice  of  our 
impatience,  and  on  the  folly  of  our  vindicating  ourselves 
from  guilt  in  the  distinctions  we  make  between  those  trials 
which  seem  to  come  more  immediately  from  God,  and  those 
which  proceed  directly  from  the  faults  of  our  fellow-crea- 
tures. "  Sickness,  losses,  and  death,  we  think,"  continued 
he,  "  we  dare  not  openly  rebel  against ;  while  we  fancy  we 
are  quite  justified  in  giving  loose  to  our  violence  when  we 
suffer  by  the  hand  of  the  oppressor,  the  unkindness  of  the 
friend,  or  the  disobedience  of  the  child.  But  this  is  one  of 
the  delusions  of  our  blinded  hearts,  [ngratitude,  unkind- 
ness, calumny,  are  permitted  to  assail  us  l>y  the  same  power 
who  cuts  off  '  the  desire  of  our  eyes  at  a  stroke.'  The  fi  iend 
who  betrays  us,  and  the  daughter  who  deceives  us,  are  in- 
struments for  our  chastisement,  sent  by  the  same  purifying 
hand  who  orders  a  fit  of  sickness  to  weaken  our  bodies,  or 
a  storm  to  destroy  our  crop,  or  a  fire  to  burn  down  our  house. 
And  we  must  look  for  the  same  remedy  in  the  one  case  as 
in  the  other;  I  mean  prayer  and  a  deep  submission  to  the 
will  of  God.  We  must  leave  off  looking  at  second  causes, 
and  look  more  at  Him  who  sets  them  in  action.  We  must 
try  to  find  out  the  meaning  of  the  Providence,  and  hardly 
dare  prav  to  be  delivered  from  it  till  it  has  accomplished  iu 
us  the  end  for  which  it  was  sent." 


354  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

His  imprudent  daughter  Bragwell  would  not  be  brought 
to  see  or  forgive,  nor  was  the  degrading  name  of  Mrs.  Incle 
ever  allowed  to  be  pronounced  in  his  hearing.  He  had 
loved  her  with  an  excessive  and  undue  affection,  and  while 
she  gratified  his  vanity  by  her  beauty  and  finery,  he  deemed 
her  faults  of  little  consequence  ;  but  when  ahe  disappointed 
his  ambition  by  a  disgraceful  marriage,  all  his  natural  af- 
fection only  served  to  increase  his  resentment.  Yet,  though 
lie  regretted  her  crime  less  than  his  own  mortification,  he 
never  ceased  in  secret  to  lament  her  loss.  She  soon  found 
out  she  was  undone,  and  wrote  in  a  strain  of  bitter  repent- 
ance to  ask  him  for  forgiveness.  She  owned  that  her  hus- 
band, whom  she  had  supposed  to  be  a  man  of  fashion  in 
disguise,  was  a  low  person  in  distressed  circumstances*  She 
implored  that  her  father,  though  he  refused  to  give  her  hus- 
band that  fortune  for  which  alone  it  was  now  too  plain  he 
married  her,  would  at  least  allow  lier  some  subsistence  ;  for 
that  Mr.  Incle  was  much  in  debt,  and,  she  feared,  in  danger 
of  a  jail. 

The  father's  heart  was  half  melted  at  this  account,  and 
his  affection  was  for  a  time  awakened ;  but  Mrs.  Bragwell 
opposed  his  sending  her  any  assistance.  She  always  made 
it  a  point  of  duty  never  to  forgive  ;  for,  she  said,  it  only  en- 
couraged those  who  had  done  wrong  once  to  do  worse  next 
time.  For  her  part  she  had  never  yet  been  guilty  of  so 
mean  and  pitiful  a  weakness  as  to  forgive  any  one  ;  for  to 
pardon  an  injury  always  showed  either  want  of  spirit  to  feel 
it,  or  want  of  power  to  resent  it.  She  was  resolved  she 
would  never  squander  the  money  for  which  she  worked  early 
and  late,  on  a  baggage  who  had  thrown  herself  away  on  a 
beggar,  while  she  had  a  daughter  single,  who  might  yet 
raise  her  family  by  a  great  match.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
Mrs.  Bratrwell's  anwr  was  not  owinc:  to  the  undutifulness 
of  the  daughter,  or  the  worth!  essness  of  the  husband  ;  pov- 


OR,     THE    HISTORY    OF     MR.     BUAGWEL1,       355 

erty  was  in  her  eyes  the  grand  crime.  The  doctrine  of  for- 
giveness, as  a  religious  principle,  made  no  more  a  part  of 
Mr.  Bragwell's  system  than  of  his  wife's ;  but  in  natural 
feeling,  particularly  for  this  offending  daughter,  he  much 
exceeded  her. 

In  a  few  months  the  youngest  Miss  Bragwell  desired  leave 
to  return  home  from  Mr.  Worthy's.  She  had,  indeed,  only 
consented  to  go  thither  as  a  less  evil  of  the  two,  than  stay- 
ng  in  her  father's  house  after  her  sister's  elopement.  But 
the  sobriety  and  simplicity  of  Mr.  Worthy's  family  were 
irksome  to  her.  Habits  of  vanity  and  idleness  were  become 
so  rooted  in  her  mind,  that  any  degree  of  restraint 
was  a  burden  ;  and  though  she  was  outwardly  civil,  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  she  longed  to  get  away.  She  resolved, 
however,  to  profit  by  her  sister's  faults  ;  and  made  her  pa- 
rents easy  by  assuring  them  she  would  never  throw  herself 
away  on  a  man  xvlio  was  worth  nothing.  Encouraged  by 
these  promises,  which  her  parents  thought  included  the 
whole  sum  and  substance  of  human  wisdom,  and  which  was 
all,  they  said,  they  could  in  reason  expect,  her  father  al- 
lowed her  to  come  home. 

Mr.  Worthy,  who  accompanied  her,  found  Mr.  Bragwell 
gloomy  and  dejected.  As  his  house  was  no  longer  a  scene 
of  vanity  and  festivity,  Mr.  Bragwell  tried  to  make  himself 
and  his  friend  believe  thai  he  was  grown  religious;  where- 
as he  was  only  become  disconte  ited.  As  ho  had  always 
fancied  that  piety  was  a  melancholy,  gloomy  thing,  and  as 
he  felt  his  own  mind  really  gloomy,  he  was  willing  to  think 
that  he  was  growing  pious.  He  had,  indeed,  gone  more 
constantly  to  church,  and  had  taken  less  pleasure  in  feast- 
ing and  cards,  and  now  and  then  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bi- 
ble ;  but  all  this  was  because  his  spirits  were  low,  and  not 
because  his  heart  was  changed.  The  outward  actions  were 
more   regular,  but  the   inward   man  was  the  same.     The 


356  THE    TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

forms  of  religion  were  resorted  to  as  a  painful  duty ;  but 
this  only  added  to  liis  misery,  while  he  was  utterly  ignorant 
of  its  spirit  and  power.     He  still,  however,  reserved  relig- 
ion as  a  loathsome  medicine,  to  which  he  feared  he  must 
have  recourse  at  last,  and  of  which  he  even  now  considered 
every  abstinence  from  pleasure,  or  every  exercise  of  piety 
as  a  bitter  dose.     His  health  also  was  impaired,  so  that  his 
friend  found  him  in  a  pitiable  state,  neither  able  to  receive 
pleasure  from  the  world,  which  he  so  dearly  loved,  nor 
from  religion,  which  he  so  greatly  feared.     He  expected  to 
have  been  much  commended  by  Mr.  Worthy  for  the  change 
in  his  way  of  life  ;  but  Worthy,  who  saw  that  the  alteration 
was  only  owing  to  the  loss  of  animal  spirits,  and  to  the 
casual  absence  of  temptation,  was  cautious  of  flattering  him 
too  much.     "  I  thought,  Mr.  Worthy,"  said  he,  "  to  have 
received  some  comfort  from  you.     I  was  told,  too,  that  re- 
ligion was  full  of  comfort,  but  I  do  not  much  find  it." 
"  You  were  told  the  truth,"  replied  Worthy  ;  "  religion  is 
full  of  comfort,  but  you  must  first  be  brought  into  a  state 
fit  to  receive  it  before  it  can  become  so ;  you  must  be 
brought  to  a  deep  and  humbling  sense  of  sin.    To  give  you 
comfort  while  you  are  puffed  up  with  high  thoughts  of  your- 
self, would  be  to  give  you  a  strong  cordial  in  a  high  fever. 
Religion  keeps  back  her  cordials  till  the  patient  is  lowered 
and  emptied — emptied  of  self,  Mr.  Bragwell.     If  you  had  a 
wound,  it  must  be  examined  and  cleansed,  ay,  and  probed 
too,  before  it  would  be  safe  to  put  on  a  healing  plaster. 
Curing  it  to  the  outward  eye,  while  it  was  corrupt  at  bot- 
tom, would  only  bring  on  a  mortification,  and  you  would 
be  a  dead  man,  while  you  trusted  that  the  plaster  was  cur- 
ing you.     You  must  be,  indeed,  a  Christian  before  you  can 
be  entitled  to  the  comforts  of  Christianity." 

"  I  am  a  Christian,"  said  Mr.  Bragwell ;  "  many  of  my 
friends  are  Christians,  but  I  do  not  see  as  it  has  done  us  much 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF    MR.     BRAGWELL.       357 

good."  "  Christianity  itself,"  answered  Worthy,  "  can  not 
make  us  good,  unless  it  be  applied  to  our  hearts.  Christian 
privileges  will  not  make  us  Christians,  unless  we  make  use 
of  them.  On  that  shelf  I  *see  stands  your  medicine.  The 
doctor  orders  you  to  take  it.  Have  you  taken  it  ?"  "  Yes," 
replied  Bragwell.  "  Are  you  the  better  for  it  ?"  said  Wor- 
thy. "  I  think  I  am,"  he  replied.  "  But,"  added  Mr.  Wor- 
thy, "  are  you  the  better  because  the  doctor  has  ordered  it 
merely,  or  because  you  have  also  taken  it  ?"  "  What  a  fool- 
ish question,"  cried  Bragwell ;  "  why  to  be  sure  the  doctor 
might  be  the  best  doctor,  and  his  physic  the  best  physic  in 
the  world ;  but  if  it  stood  forever  on  the  shelf,  I  could  not 
expect  to  be  cured  by  it.  My  doctor  is  not  a  mountebank. 
He  does  not  pretend  to  cure  by  a  charm.  The  physic  is 
good,  and  as  it  suits  my  case,  though  it  is  bitter,  I  take  it." 
"  You  have  now,"  said  Mr.  Worthy,  "  explained  unde- 
signedly the  reason  why  religion  does  so  little  good  in  the 
world.  It  is  not  a  mountebank ;  it  does  not  work  by  a 
charm;  but  it  offers  to  cure  your  worst  corruptions  by 
wholesome,  though  sometimes  bitter  prescriptions.  But  you 
will  not  take  them ;  you  will  not  apply  to  God  with,  the 
sanw  earnest  desire  to  be  healed  with  which  you  appjy  to 
your  doctor  ;  you  will  not  confess  your  sins  to  one  as  hon- 
estly as  you  tell  your  symptoms  to  the  other,  nor  read  your 
Bible  with  the  same  faith  and  submission  with  which 
you  take  your  medicine.  In  reading  it,  however,  you  must 
take  care  not  to  apply  to  yourself  the  comforts  which  are 
not  suited  to  your  case.  You  must,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
be  brought  into  a  condition  to  be  entitled  to  the  promises, 
before  you  can  expect  the  comfort  of  them.  Conviction  is 
not  conversion  ;  that  worldly  discontent,  which  is  the  effect 
of  worldly  disappointment,  is  not  that  godly  sorrow  which 
worketh  repentance.  Besides,  while  you  have  been  pursuing 
all  the  gratifications  of  the  world,  do  not  complain  that  you 


358  THE    TWO     WEALTHY 

have  not  all  the  comforts  of  religion  too.     Could  you  live 
in  the  full  enjoyment  of  both,  the  Bible  would  not  be  true" 

JBragwell.  Well,  sir,  but  I  do  a  good  action  sometimes; 
and  God,  who  knows  he  did  not  make  us  perfect,  will  ac- 
cept it,  and  for  the  sake  of  my  good  actions  will  forgive  my 
faults. 

Worthy.  Depend  upon  it,  God  will  never  forgive  your 
sins  for  tbe  sake  of  your  virtues.  There  is  no  commutation 
tax  there.  But  he  will  forgive  them  on  your  sincere  repent- 
ance for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ.  Goodness  is  not  a  single 
act  to  be  done  ;  so  that  a  man  can  say,  I  have  achieved  it, 
and  the  thing  is  over ;  but  it  is  a  habit  that  is  to  be  con- 
stantly maintained ;  it  is  a  continual  struggle  with  the  op- 
posite vice.  No  man  must  reckon  himself  good  for  any 
thing  he  has  already  done ;  though  he  may  consider  it  as 
an  evidence  that  he  is  in  the  right  way,  if  he  feels  a  constant 
disposition  to  resist  every  evil  temper.  But  every  Christian 
grace  will  always  find  work  enough;  and  he  must  not  fancy 
that  because  he  has  conquered  once,  his  virtue  may  now  sit 
down  and  take  a  holiday. 

'  Mragwell.  But  I  thought  we  Christians  need  not  be 
watchful  against  sin;  because  Christ,  as  you  so  often  tell 
me,  died  for  sinners. 

Worthy.  Do  not  deceive  yourself :  the  evangelical  doc- 
trines, while  they  so  highly  exalt  a  Saviour,  do  not  diminish 
the  heinousness  of  sin,  they  rather  magnify  it.  Do  not 
comfort  yourself  by  extenuation  or  mitigation  of  sin  ;  but 
by  repentance  toward  v  God,  and  faith  in  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  It  is  not  by  diminishing  or  denying  your  debt ;  but 
by  confessing  it,  by  owning  that  you  have  nothing  to  pay, 
that  forgiveness  is  to  be  hoped. 

Bragwell.  I  don't  understand  you.  You  want  to  have 
me  as  good  as  a  saint,  and  as  penitent  as  a  sinner  at  the 
same  time. 


OE,     THE     HISTORY    OF    MR.     BRAGWELL.       359 

Worthy.  I  expect  of  every  real  Christian,  that  is,  every 
real  penitent,  that  he  should  labor  to  get  his  heart  and  life 
impressed  with  the  stamp  of  the  gospel.  I  expect  to  see 
him  aiming  at  a  conformity  in  spirit  and  in  practice  to  the 
will  of  God  in  Jesus  Christ.  I  expect  to  see  him  gradually 
attaining  toward  the  entire  change  from  his  natural  self. 
When  I  see  a"  man  at  constant  war  with  those  several  pur- 
suits and  tempers  which  are  with  peculiar  propriety  termed 
worldly,  it  is  a  plain  proof  to  me  that  the  change  must  have 
passed  on  him  which  the  gospel  emphatically  terms  he- 
coming  "  a  new  man.'' 

JBragwell.  I  hope  then  I  am  altered  enough  to  please 
you.  I  am  sure  affliction  has  made  such  a  change  in  me, 
that  my  best  friends  hardly  know  me  to  be  the  same  man. 

Worthy.  That  is  not  the  change  I  mean.  'Tis  true,  from 
a  merry  man  you  have  become  a  gloomy  man  ;  but  that  is 
because  you  have  been  disappointed  in  your  schemes  :  the 
principle  remains  unaltered.  A  great  match  for  your  single 
daughter  would  at  once  restore  all  the  spirits  you  have  lost 
by  the  imprudence  of  your  married  one.  The  change  the 
gospel  requires  is  of  quite  another  cast:  it  is  having  "a 
new  heart  and  a  right  spirit ;"  it  is  being  "  God's  workman- 
ship ;"  it  is  being  "  created  anew  in  Christ  Jesus  unto  good 
works;"  it  is  becoming  "new  creatures;"  it  is  u  old  things 
being  done  away,  and  all  things  made  new;"  it  is  by  so 
11  learning  the  truth  as  it  is  in  .Ions — to  the  putting  oil'  the 
old  man,  and  putting  on  thenew,  which  after  Godis created 
in  righteousness  and  true  holiness;"  it  is  by  "partaking  of 
the  divine  nature."  Pray  observe,  Mr.  Bragwell,  these  are 
not  my  words,  aor  words  picked  out  of  any  fanatical  book; 
they  are  the  words  of  that  gospel  you  profess  to  believe; 
it  i  not  a  new  doctrine,  it  is  as  old  as  our  religion  \\ 
Though  I  can  not  but  observe,  that  men  are  more  reluctant 
in  believing,  more  averse  to  adopting  this  doctrine  than  al- 


3G0  THE     TWO     WEALTHY    FARMERS; 

most  any  other :  and  indeed  I  do  not  wonder  at  it ;  for 
there  is  perhaps  no  one  which  so  attacks  corruption  in  its 
strongholds  ;  no  one  which  so  thoroughly  prohibits  a  lazy 
Christian  from  uniting  a  life  of  sinful  indulgence  with  an 
outward  profession  of  piety.  • 

Brairwell  now  seemed  resolved  to  set  about  the  matter  in 
earnest ;  but  he  resolved  in  his  own  strength  :  he  never 
thought  of  applying  for  assistance  to  the  Fountain  of  Wis- 
dom ;  to  Him  who  giveth  might  to  them  who  have  no 
strength.  Unluckily  the  very  day  Mr.  Worthy  took  leave, 
there  happened  to  be  a  grand  ball  at  the  next  town,  on  ac- 
count of  the  assizes.  An  assize-ball,  courteous  reader !  is 
a  scene  to  which  gentlemen  and  ladies  periodically  resort  to 
celebrate  the  crimes  and  calamities  of  their  fellow-creatures, 
by  dancing  and  music,  and  to  divert  themselves  with  feast- 
ing and  drinking,  while  unhappy  wretches  are  receiving 
sentence  of  death. 

To  this  ball  Miss  BraVwell  went,  dressed  out  with  a 
double  portion  of  finery,  pouring  out  on  her  head,  in  addi- 
tion to  her  own  ornaments,  the  whole  band-box  of  feathers, 
beads,  and  flowers,  her  sister  had  left  behind  her.  While 
she  was  at  the  ball  her  father  formed  many  plans  of  relig- 
ious reformation  ;  he  talked  of  lessening  his  business,  that 
he  might  have  more  leisure  for  devotion  ;  though  not  just 
now,  while  the  markets  were  so  high  ;  and  then  he  began 
to  think  of  sending  a  handsome  subscription  to  the  Infirm- 
ary ;  though,  on  second  thoughts  he  concluded  that  he 
needed  not  be  in  a  hurry,  but  might  as  well  leave  it  in  his 
will ;  though  tB  give,  and  repent,  and  reform,  were  three 
things  he  was  bent  upon.  But  when  his  daughter  came 
home  at  night  so  happy  and  so  fine !  and  telling  how  she 
had  danced  with  Squire  Squeeze,  the  great  corn  contractor, 
and  how  many  fine  things  he  had  said  to  her,  Mr.  Bragwell 
felt  the  old  spirit  of  the  world  return  in  its  full  force.     A 


OR,    THE-     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       361 

marriage  with  Mr.  Dashall  Squeeze,  the  contractor,  was 
beyond  his  hopes  ;  for  Mr.  Squeeze  was  supposed  from  a 
very  low  beginning  to  have  got  rich  during  the  war. 

As  for  Mr.  Squeeze,  he  had  picked  up  as  much  of  the 
history  of  his  partner  between  the  dances  as  he  desired  ;  he 
was  convinced  there  would  be  no  money  wanting  ;  for  Miss 
Bragwell,  who  was  now  looked  on  as  an  only  child,  must 
needs  be  a  great  fortune,  and  Mr.  Squeeze  was  too  much 
used  to  advantageous  contracts  to  let  this  slip.  As  he  was 
gaudily  dressed,  and  possessed  all  the  arts  of  vulgar  flat- 
tery, Miss  Bragwell  eagerly  caught  at  his  proposal  to  wait 
on  her  father  next  day.  Squeeze  was  quite  a  man  after 
BragwelFs  own  heart,  a  genius  at  getting  money,  a  fine  dash- 
ing fellow  at  spending  it.  He  told  his  wife  that  this  was  the 
very  sort  of  man  for  his  daughter  ;  for  he  got  money  like  a 
Jew  and  spent  it  like  a  prince  ;  but  whether  it  was  fairly 
got  or  wisely  spent,  he  was  too  much  a  man  of  the  world 
to  inquire.  Mrs.  Bragwell  was  not  so  run  away  with  by 
appearances  but  that  she  desired  her  husband  to  be  careful, 
and  make  himself  quite  sure  it  was  the  right  Mr.  Squeeze, 
and  no  impostor.  But  being  assured  by  her  husband  that 
Betsy  would  certainly  keep  her  carriage,  she  never  gave 
herself  one  thought  with  what  sort  of  a  man  she  was  to 
ride  in  it.  To  have  one  of  her  daughters  drive  in  her  own 
coach,  filled  up  all  her  ideas  <>f  human  happiness,  and  drove 
the  oilier  daughter  quite  out  of  her  head.  The  marriage 
was  celebrated  with  great  splendor,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Squeeze  set  off  for  London,  where  they  had  taken  a  house. 

Mr.  Bragwell  now  tried  to  forget  that  he  had  any  other 
daughter;  and  if  some  thoughts  of  the  resolutions  he  had 
made  of  entering  on  a  more  religious  course  would  some- 
times force  themselves  upon  him,  they  were  put  off,  like 
the  repentance  of  Felix,  to  <>  more  convenient  season  ;  and 
finding  he   was  likely  to  have   a  grandchild,  lie  became 

1G 


362  THE     TWO      WEALTHY     FARMERS', 

more  worldly  and  more  ambitious  than  ever  ;  thinking  this 
a  just  pretense  for  adding  house  to  house,  and  field  to  field. 
And  there  is  no  stratagem  by  which  men  more  fatally  de- 
ceive themselves,  than  when  they  make  even  unborn  chil- 
dren a  pretense  for  that  rapine,  or  that  hoarding,  of  which 
their  own  covetousness  is  the  true  motive.  Whenever  he 
ventured  to  write  to  Mr.  Worthy  about  the  wealth,  the 
gayety,  and  the  grandeur  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeeze,  (hat 
faithful  friend  honestly  reminded  him  of  the  vanity  and  un- 
certainty of  worldly  greatness,  and  the  error  he  had  been 
guilty  of  in  marrying  his  daughter  before  he  had  taken 
time  to  inquire  into  the  real  character  of  the  man,  saying, 
that  he  could  not  help  foreboding  that  the  happiness  of  a 
match  made  at  a  ball  might  have  an  untimely  end. 

Notwithstanding  Mi-.  Bragwell  had  paid  down  a  larger 
fortune  than  was  prudent,  for  fear  Mr.  Squeeze  should  fly 
off,  vet  he  was  surprised  to  receive  very  soon  a  pressing 
letter  from  him.  desiring  him  to  advance  a  considerable 
sum,  as  he  had  the  offer  of  an  advantageous  purchase, 
which  he  must  lose  for  want  of  money.  Bragwell  was 
staggered,  and  refused  to  comply ;  but  his  wife  told  him  he 
must  not  be  shabby  to  such  a  gentleman  as  Squire  Squeeze ; 
fur  that  she  heard  on  all  sides  such  accounts  of  their  grand- 
eur, their  feasts,  their  carriages,  and  their  liveries,  that  she 
and  her  husband  oucfht  even  to  deny  themselves  comforts 
to  oblige  such  a  generous  son,  who  did  all  this  in  honor  of 
their  daughter ;  besides,  if  he  did  not  send  the  money  soon, 
they  might  be  obliged  to  lay  down  their  coach,  and  then 
she  would  never  be  able  to  show  her  face  again.  At  length 
Mr.  Bragwell  lent  him  the  money  on  his  bond  ;  he  knew 
Squeeze's  income  was  large ;  for  he  had  carefully  inquired 
into  this  particular,  and  for  the  rest  he  took  his  word. 
Mrs.  Squeeze  also  got  great  presents  from  her  mother,  by 
representing  to  her  how  expensively  they  were  forced  to 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.      363 

live  to  keep  up  their  credit,  and  what  honor  she  was  con- 
ferring on  the  family  of  the  Bragwell's,  by  spending  their 
money  in  such  grand  company.  Among  many  other  letters 
she  wrote  her  the  following  : 

TO  MRS.  BRAGWELL. 

"  You  can't  imagine,  dear,  mother,  how  charmingly  we 
live.  I  lie  a-bed  almost  all  day,  and  am  up  all  night ;  but 
it  is  never  dark,  for  all  that,  for  we  burn  such  numbers  of 
candles  all  at  once,  that  the  sun  would  be  of  no  use  at  all 
in  London.  Then  I  am  so  happy  ;  for  we  are  never  quiet  a 
moment,  Sundays  or  working-days  ;  nay,  I  should  not  know 
which  was  which,  only  that  we  have  most  pleasure  on  a 
Sunday  ;  because  it  is  the  only  day  on  which  people  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  divert  themselves.  Then  the  great 
folks  are  all  so  kind,  and  so  good ;  they  have  not  a  bit  of 
pride,  for  they  will  come  and  eat  and  drink,  and  win  my 
money,  just  as  if  I  was  their  equal ;  and  if  I  have  got  but  a 
cold,  they  are  so  very  unhappy  that  they  send  to  know 
how  I  do  ;  and  though  I  suppose  they  can't  rest  till  the  foot- 
man has  told  them,  yet  they  are  so  polite,  that  if  I  have 
been  dying  they  seem  to  have  forgotten  it  the  next  time  we 
meet,  and  not  to  know  but  they  have  seen  me  the  day  be- 
fore. Oh  !  they  are  true  friends;  and  for  ever  smiling,  and 
so  fond  of  one  another,  that  they  like  to  meet  and  enjoy 
one  another's  company  by  hundreds,  and  always  think  the 
more  the  merrier.  I  shall  never  be  tired  of  such  a  delight- 
ful life. 

"Your  dutiful  daughter, 

"  Betsy  Squeeze." 

The  style  of  her  letters,  however,  altered  in  a  few  months. 
She  owned  that  though  things  went  <>n  gawr  and  grander 
than  ever,  yet  she  hardly  ever  saw  her  husband,  except  her 


864  THE    TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

house  was  full  of  company,  and  cards  or  dancing  was  going 
on ;  that  he  was  often  so  busy  abroad  he  could  not  come 
borne  all  night ;  that  be  always  borrowed  tbe  money  her 
mother  sent  her  when  he  was  going  out  on  this  nightly  bus- 
iness ;  and  that  the  last  time  she  had  asked  him  for  money 
he  cursed  and  swore,  and  bid  her  apply  to  the  old  farmer 
and  his  rib,  who  were  made  of  money.  This  letter  Mrs. 
Bragwell  concealed  from  her  husband. 

At  length,  on  some  change  in  public  affairs,  Mr.  Squeeze, 
who  had  made  an  overcharge  of  some  thousand  pounds  in 
one  article,  lost  his  contract ;  he  was  found  to  owe  a  large 
debt  to  government,  and  his  accounts  must  be  made  up  im- 
mediately. This  was  impossible  ;  he  had  not  only  spent  his 
large  income,  without  making  any  provision  for  his  family, 
but  had  contracted  heavy  debts  by  gaming  and  other  vices. 
His  creditors  poured  in  upon  him.  Lie  wrote  to  Bragwell 
to  borrow  another  sum  ;  but  without  hinting  at  the  loss  of 
his  contract.  These  repeated  demands  made  Bragwell  so 
uneasy,  that  instead  of  sending  him  the  money,  he  resolved 
to  go  himself  secretly  to  London,  and  judge  by  his  own 
eyes  how  things  were  going  on,  as  his  mind  strangely  mis- 
gave him.  Lie  got  to  Mr.  Squeeze's  house  about  eleven  at 
night,  and  knocked  gently,  concluding  that  they  must  be  gone 
to  bed.  But  what  was  his  astonishment  to  find  the  hall  was 
full  of  men  ;  he  pushed  through  in  spite  of  them,  though  to 
his  great  surprise  they  insisted  on  knowing  his  name,  saying 
they  must  carry  it  to  their  lady.  This  affronted  him  ;  he 
refused,  saying,  "  It  is  not  because  I  am  ashamed  of  my 
name,  it  will  pass  for  thousands  in  any  market  in  the  west 
of  England.  Is  this  your  London  manners,  not  to  let  a  man 
of  my  credit  in  without  knowing  his  name  indeed  !"  What 
was  his  amazement  to  see  every  room  as  full  of  card- tables 
and  of  fine  gentlemen  and  ladies  as  it  would  hold.  All  was 
so  light,  and  so  gay,  and  so  festive,  and  so  grand,  that  he 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OP     MR.     BRAGWELL.      365 

reproached  himself  for  his  suspicions,  thought  nothing  too 
good  for  them,  and  resolved  secretly  to  give  Squeeze  an- 
other five  hundred  pounds  to  help  to  keep  up  so  much  grand- 
eur and  happiness.  At  length  seeing  a  footman  he  knew, 
he  asked  him  where  were  his  master  and  mistress,  for  he 
could  not  pick  them  out  among  the  company  ;  or  rather  his 
ideas  became  so  confused  with  the  splendor  of  the  scene, 
that  he  did  not  know  whether  they  were  there  or  not.  The 
man  said,  that  his  master  had  just  sent  for  his  lady  up 
stairs,  and  he  believed  th^t  he  was  not  well.  Mr.  Brag- 
well  said  he  would  go  up  himself  and  look  for  his  daughter, 
as  he  could  not  speak  so  freely  to  her  before  all  that  com- 
pany. 

He  went  up,  knocked  at  the  chamber  door,  and  its  not 
being  opened,  made  him  push  it  with  some  violence.  He 
heard  a  bustling  noise  within,  and  again  made  a  fruitless 
attempt  to  open  the  door.  At  this  the  noise  increased,  and 
Mr.  Bragwell  was  struck  to  the  heart  at  the  sound  of  a  pis- 
tol from  within.  He  now  kicked  so  violently  against  the 
door  that  it  burst  open,  when  the  first  sight  he  saw  was  his 
daughter  falling  to  the  ground  in  a  tit,  and  Mr.  Squeeze  dy- 
ing by  a  shot  from  a  pistol  which  was  dropping  out  of  his 
hand.  Mr.  Bragwell  was  not  the  only  person  whom  the 
sound  of  the  pistol  had  alarmed.  The  servants,  the  com- 
pany, all  heard  it,  and  all  ran  up  to  the  scene  of  horror. 
Those  who  had  the  best  of  the  game  took  care  to  bring  up 
their  tricks  in  their  hands,  having  had  the  prudence  to  leave 
the  very  few  who  could  be  trusted,  to  watch  the  stakes, 
while  those  who  had  the  prospect  of  losing  profiled  by  the 
confusion,  a i nl  threw  up  their  cards.  All  was  dismay  and 
terror.  Some  ran  for  a  surgeon,  others  examined  the  dying 
man;  some  remove. 1  Mrs.  Squeeze  to  her  bed,  while  poor 
Bragwell  could  neither  see,  nor  hear,  nor  do  any  thing.  One 
of  the  company  took  up  a  letter  which  lay  open  upon  the  table, 


366  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

and  was  addressed  to  him  ;  they  read  it,  hoping  it  might 
explain  the  horrid  mystery.     It  was  as  follows  : 

"  TO  MR.  BRAGWELL. 

"  Sir — Fetch  home  your  daughter ;  I  have  ruined  her,  my- 
self, and  the  child  to  which  she  every  hour  expects  to  be  a  mo- 
ther. I  have  lost  my  contracts.  My  debts  are  immense.  You 
refuse  me  money  ;  I  must  die  then  ;  but  I  will  die  like  a  man 
of  spirit.  They  wait  to  take  me  to  prison ;  I  have  two  exe- 
cutions in  my  house  ;  but  I  have  ten  card-tables  in  it.  I 
would  die  as  I  have  lived.  I  invited  all  this  company,  and 
have  drank  hard  since  dinner  to  get  primed  for  this  dread- 
ful deed.  My  wife  refuses  to  write  to  you  for  another  thou- 
sand, and  she  must  take  the  consequences.  Vanity  has 
been  my  ruin  ;  it  has  caused  all  my  crimes.  Whoever  is 
resolved  to  live  beyond  his  income  is  liable  to  eveiy  sin. 
He  can  never  say  to  himself,  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no 
further.  Vanity  led  me  to  commit  acts  of  rapine,  that  I 
might  live  in  splendor;  vanity  makes  me  commit  self-mur- 
der, because  I  will  not  live  in  poverty.  The  new  philosophy 
says  that  death  is  an  eternal  sleej) ;  but  the  new  philosophy 
lies.  Do  you  take  heed ;  it  is  too  late  for  me :  the  dreadful 
gulf  yawns  to  swallow  me  ;  I  plunge  into  perdition :  there 
is  no  repentance  in  the  grave,  no  hope  in  hell. 

"Yours,  etc. 

"  DASHALL  SQUEEZe." 

The  dead  body  was  removed,  and  Mr.  Bragwell  remaining 
almost  without  speech  or  motion,  the  company  began  to 
think  of  retiring,  much  out  of  humor  at  having  their  party 
so  disagreeably  broken  up  :  they  comforted  themselves  how- 
ever, that  it  was  so  early  (for  it  was  now  scarcely  twelve) 
they  could  finish  their  evening  at  another  party  or  two ;  so 
completely  do  habits  of  pleasure,  as  it  is  called,  harden  the 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     B  R  A  G  W  E  L  L .       3G7 

heart,  and  steel  jt  not  only  against  virtuous  impressions,  but 
against  natural  feelings !  Now  it  was,  that  those  who  had 
nightly  rioted  at  the  expense  of  these  wretched  people,  were 
the  first  to  abuse  them.  Not  an  offer  of  assistance  was 
made  to  this  poor  forlorn  woman ;  not  a  word  of  kindness 
or  of  pity  ;  nothing  but  censure  was  now  heard,  "  Why 
must  these  upstarts  ape  people  of  quality  ?"  though  as  long 
as  these  upstarts  could  feast  them,  their  vulgarity  and  their 
bad  character  had  never  been  produced  against  them.  "  As 
long  as  thou  dost  well  unto  thyself,  men  shall  speak  good  of 
thee."  One  guest  who,  unluckily,  had  no  other  house  to  go 
to,  coolly  said,  as  he  walked  off,  "  Squeeze  might  as  well 
have  put  off  shooting  himself  till  morning.  It  was  mon- 
strously provoking  that  he  could  not  wait  an  hour  or  two." 

As  every  thing  in  the  house  was  seized  Mr.  Bragwell  pre- 
vailed on  his  miserable  daughter,  weak  as  she  was,  next 
morning  to  set  out  with  him  to  the  country.  His  acquaint- 
ance with  polite  life  was  short,  but  he  had  seen  a  great  deal 
in  a  little  time.  They  had  a  slow  and  sad  journey.  In 
about  a  week,  Mrs.  Squeeze  lay-in  of  a  dead  child ;  she  her- 
self languished  a  few  days,  and  then  died;  and  the  afflicted 
parents  saw  the  two  darling  objects  of  their  ambition,  for 
whose  sakes  they  had  made  too  much  haste  to  be  rich,  car- 
ried to  the  land  where  all  things  are  forgotten.  Mrs.  Brag- 
well's  grief,  like  her  other  passion-,  was  extravagant;  and 
poor  BragwelPs  sorrow  was  rendered  so  bitter  by  self-re- 
proach, that  he  would  have  quite  sunk  under  it,  had  he  not 
thought  of  his  old  expedient  in  distress,  that  of  sending  for 
Mr.  Worthy  to  comforl  bim. 

It  was  Mr.  Worthy's  way,  to  warn  people  of  those  misfor- 
tunes which  he  saw  their  faults  must  Deeds  bring  on  them  ; 
l»ut  not  to  reproach  or  desert  them  when  the  misfortunes 
came  He  had  aever  been  near  Bragwell  during  the  short 
but  flourishing  reign  of  the  Squeezes :    for  be  knew  that 


369  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

prosperity  made  the  ears  deaf  and  the  heart  hard  to  counsel ; 
but  as  soon  as  he  heard  his  friend  was  in  trouble,  he  set  out 
to  go  to  hirn.  Brag-well  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  tears 
when  he  saw  him,  and  when  he  could  speak,  said,  "  This 
trial  is  more  than  I  can  bear."  Mr.  Worthy  kindly  took 
him  by  the  hand,  and  when  he  was  a  little  composed,  said, 
"I  will  tell  you  a  short  story.  There  was  in  ancient  times 
a  famous  man  who  was  a  slave.  His  master,  who  was  very 
good  to  him,  one  day  gave  him  a  bitter  melon,  and  made 
him  eat  it :  he  ate  it  up  without  one  word  of  complaint. 
'  How  was  it  possible,'  said  the  master,  '  for  you  to  eat  so 
very  nauseous  and  disagreeable  a  fruit  V  The  slave  replied, 
'My  good  master,  I  have  received  so  many  favors  from 
your  bounty,  that  it  is  no  wonder  if  I  should  once  in  my  life 
eat  one  bitter  melon  from  your  hands.'  This  generous  an- 
swer so  struck  the  master,  that  the  history  says  he  gave  him 
his  liberty.  With  such  submissive  sentiments,  my  friend, 
should  man  receive  his  portion  of  sufferings  from  God,  from 
whom  he  receives  so  many  blessings.  Y.ou  in  particular 
have  received  '  much  good  at  the  hand  of  God,  shall  you 
not  receive  evil  also?'  " 

"  O  !  Mr.  Worthy  !"  said  Bragwell,  "  this  blow  is  too  heavy 
for  me,  I  can  not  survive  this  shock  :  I  do  not  desire  it,  I  only 
wish  to  die."  "  We  are  very  apt  to  talk  most  of  dying  when 
we  are  least  fit  for  it,"  said  Worthy.  "  This  is  not  the  lan- 
guage of  that  submission  which  makes  us  prepare  for  death  ; 
but  of  that  despair  which  makes  us  out  of  humor  with  life. 
0  !  Mr.  Bragwell !  you  are  indeed  disappointed  of  the  grand 
ends  which  made  life  so  delightful  to  you ;  but  till  your 
heart  is  humbled,  till  you  are  brought  to  a  serious  convic- 
tion of  sin,  till  you  arc  brought  to  see  what  is  the  true  end 
of  life,  you  can  have  no  hope  in  death.  You  think  you 
have  no  business  on  earth,  because  those  for  whose  sake  you 
too  eagerly  heaped  up  riches  are  no  more.     But  is  there  not 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OP     MR.     BRAG  "WELL.       369 

under  the  canopy  of  heaven  some  afflicted  being  whom  you 
may  yet  relieve,  some  modest  merit  which  you  may  brino- 
forward,  some  helpless  creature  you  may  save  by  your  advice, 
some  perishing  Christian  you  may  sustain  by  your  wealth  ? 
When  you  have  no  sins  of  your  own  to  repent  of,  no  mercies 
of  God  to  be  thankful  for,  no  miseries  of  others  to  relieve, 
then,  and  not  till  then,  I  consent  you  should  sink  down  in 
despair,  and  call  on  death  to  relieve  you." 

Mr.  Worthy  attended  his  afflicted  friend  to  the  funeral 
of  his  unhappy  daughter  and  her  babe.  The  solemn  serv- 
ice, the  committing  his  late  gay  and  beautiful  daughter  to 
darkness,  to  worms,  and  to  corruption  ;  the  sight  of  the 
dead  infant,  for  whose  sake  he  had  resumed  all  his  schemes 
of  vanity  and  covetousness,  when  he  thought  he  had  got 
the  better  of  them ;  the  melancholy  conviction  that  all 
human  prosperity  ends  in  ashes  to  ashes,  and  dust  to  duai. 
had  brought  down  Mr.  Bragwell's  self-sufficient  and  haughty 
soul  into  something  of  that  humble  frame  in  which  Mr. 
Worthy  had  wished  to  see  it.  As  soon  as  they  returned 
home,  he  was  bemnninff  to  seize  the  favorable  moment  for 
fixing  these  serious  impressions,  when  they  were  unseason- 
ably interrupted  by  the  parish  officer,  who  came  to  ask  Mr. 
liragwell  what  he  was  to  do  with  a  poor  dying  woman  who 
was  traveling:  the  country  with  her  child,  and  was  taken  in 
a  fit  under  the  church-yard  wall  ?  "At  first  they  thought 
she  was  dead,"  said  the  man,  "but  finding  she  still  breathed, 
they  have  carried  her  into  the  work-house  till  she  could  give 
some  account  of  herself." 

Mr.  lira-well  was  impatient  at  the  interruption,  which 
was,  indeed,  unseasonable,  and  told  the  man  that  lie  was  at 
that  time  too  much  overcome  by  sorrow  to  attend  to  busi- 
ness, but  he  would  give  him  an  answer  to-morrow.  "  But, 
my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Worthy,  "the  poor  woman  may  die  to- 
night ;  your  mind  is  indeed  not  in  a  frame  for  worldly  busi- 


370  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

nviss  ;  but  there  is  no  sorrow  too  great  to  forbid  our  attend- 
ing the  calls  of  duty.  An  act  of  Christian  charity  will  not 
disturb,  but  improve  the  seriousness  of  your  spirit;  and 
though  you  can  not  dry  your  own  tears,  God  may  in  great 
mercy  permit  you  to  dry  those  of  another.  This  may  be 
one  of  those  occasions  for  which  I  told  you  life  was  worth 
keeping.  Do  let  us  see  this  woman."  Bragwell  was  not 
in  a  state  either  to  consent  or  refuse,  and  his  friend  drew 
him  to  the  work-house,  about  the  door  of  which  stood  a 
crowd  of  people.  "  She  is  not  dead,"  said  one,  "  she  moves 
her  head."  "  But  she  wants  air,"  said  all  of  them,  while 
they  all,  according  to  custom,  pushed  so  olose  upon  her 
that  it  was  impossible  she  could  get  any.  A  fine  boy  of 
two  or  three  years  old  stood  by  her,  crying,  "  Mammy  is 
dead,  mammy  is  starved."  Mr.  Worthy  made  up  to  the 
poor  woman,  holding  his  friend  by  the  arm  ;  in  order  to 
give  her  air  he  untied  a  large  black  bonnet  which  hid  her 
face,  when  Mr.  Bragwell,  at  that  moment  casting  his  eyes 
on  her  saw  in  this  poor  stranger  the  face  of  his  own  run- 
away daughter,  Mrs.  Incle.  He  groaned,  but  could  not 
speak  ;  and  as  he  was  turning  away  to  conceal  his  anguish, 
the  little  boy  fondly  caught  hold  of  his  hand,  lisping  out, 
"  O  stay  and  give  mammy  some  bread."  His  heart  yearned 
toward  the  child ;  he  grasped  his  little  hand  in  his,  while 
he  sorrowfully  said  to  Mr.  Worthy,  "  It  is  too  much,  send 
away  the  people.  It  is  my  dear  naughty  child ;  '  my 
•punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear.'' "  Mr.  Worthy  de- 
sired the  people  to  go  and  leave  the  stranger  to  them  ;  but 
by  this  time  she  was  no  stranger  to  any  of  them.  Pale  and 
meager  as  >ras  her  face,  and  poor  and  shabby  as  was  her 
dress,  the  proud  and  flaunting  Miss  Polly  Bragwell  was 
easily  known  by  every  one  present.  They  went  away,  but 
with  the  mean  revenge  of  little  minds,  they  paid  themselves 
by  abuse,  for  all  the  airs  and  insolence  they  had  once  en- 


OR,    THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       3"Z1 

dured  from  her.  "  Pride  must  have  a  fall,"  said  one,  "  i 
remember  when' she  was  too  good  to  speak  to  a  poor  body," 
said  another.  "  Where  are  her  flounces  and  furbelows 
now  1  It  is  come  home  to  her  at  last ;  her  child  looks  as 
if  he  would  be  glad  of  the  worst  bit  she  formerly  de- 
nied us." 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Bragwell  had  sunk  into  an  old 
wicker  chair  which  stood  behind,  and  groaned  out,  "  Lord, 
forgive  my  hard  heart !  Lord,  subdue  my  proud  heart ; 
create  a  clean  heart,  0  God  !  and  reneio  a  right  sjririt  tvithin 
me?  These  were  perhaps  the  first  words  of  genuiue  prayer 
he  had  ever  offered  up  in  his  whole  life.  Worthy  overheard 
it,  and  in  his  heart  rejoiced ;  but  this  was  not  a  time  for 
talking,  but  doing.  He  asked  Bragwell  what  was  to  be 
done  with  the  unfortunate  woman,  who  now  seemed  to 
recover  fast,  but  she  did  not  see  them,  for  they  were  behind. 
She  embraced  her  boy,  and  faintly  said,  "  My  child,  what 
shall  we  do  ?  /  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father,  and  say 
unto  him,  Father,  I  have  sinned,  against  heaven  and  before 
thee."  This  was  a  joyful  sound  to  Mr.  Worthy,  who  was 
inclined  to  hope  that  her  heart  might  be  as  much  changed 
for  the  better  as  her  circumstances  were  altered  for  the 
worse ;  and  he  valued  the  goods  of  fortune  so  little,  and 
contrition  of  soul  so  much,  that  he  began  to  think  the 
change  on  the  whole  might  be  a  happy  one.  The  boy  then 
sprung  from  his  mother,  and  ran  to  Bragwell,  saying,  "  Do 
be  good  to  mammy."  Mrs.  Incle  looking  round,  now  per- 
ceived her  lather ;  she  fell  at  his  feet,  saying,  "O  forgive 
your  guilty  child,  and  save  your  innocent  one  from  starv- 
ing." Bragwell  sunk  down  by  her,  and  prayed  God  to 
forgive  hut] i  her  and  himself,  in  terms  of  genuine  sorrow. 
To  hear  words  of  real  penitence  and  heart -('fit  prayer 
from  this  once  high-minded  father  and  vain  daughter,  was 
music  to  Worthy's  ears,  who  thought  this  moment  of  out 


372  THE     TWO     WKALTHY     FARMERS; 

ward  misery  was  the  only  joyful  one  lie  had  ever  spent  in 
the  Bragwell  family. 

He  was  resolved  not  to  interfere,  but  to  let  the  father's 
own  feelings  work  out  the  way  into  which  he  was  to  act. 

Bragwell  said  nothing,  but  slowly  led  to  his  own  house, 
holding  the  little  boy  by  the  hand,  and  pointing  to  Worthy 
to  assist  the  feeble  steps  of  his  daughter,  who  once  more 
entered  her  father's  doors ;  but  the  dread  of  seeing  her 
mother  quite  overpowered  her.  Mrs.  BragweU's  heart  was 
not  changed,  but  sorrow  had  weakened  her  powers  of  resist- 
ance ;  and  she  rather  suffered  her  daughter  to  come  in, 
than  gave  her  a  kind  reception.  She  was  more  astonished 
than  pleased ;  and  even  in  this  trying  moment,  was  more 
disgusted  with  the  little  boy's  mean  clothes,  than  delighted 
with  his  rosy  face.  As  soon  as  she  was  a  little  recovered, 
Mi\  Bragwell  desired  his  daughter  to  tell  him  how  she  hap- 
pened to  be  at  that  place  at  that  time. 

In  a  weak  voice  she  began  :  "  My  tale,  sir,  is  short,  but 
mournful."  Now,  I  am  very  sorry  that  my  readers  must 
wait  for  this  short,  but  mournful  tale,  a  little  longer. 


PART    VII. 

MRS.      INCLE's     STORY 


"  I  left  your  house,  dear  father,''*  said  Mrs.  Incle,  "  with 
a  heart  full  of  vain  triumph.  I  had  no  doubt  but  my  hus- 
band was  a  great  man,  who  put  on  that  disguise  to  obtain 
my  hand.  Judge,  then,  what  I  felt  to  find  that  he  was  a 
needy  impostor,  who  wanted  my  money,  but  did  not  care 
for  me.     This  discovery,  though  it  mortified,  did  not  hum- 


OR,     THE     HISTORY     OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       373 

ble  Hie.  I  had  neither  affection  to  bear  with  the  man  who 
had  deceived  me,  nor  religion  to  improve  by  the  disappoint- 
ment. I  have  found  that  change  of  circumstances  does  not 
change  the  heart,  till  God  is  pleased  to  do  it.  My  mis- 
fortuue  only  taught  me  to  rebel  more  against  him.  I 
thought  God  unjust;  I  accused  my  father,  I  was  envious  of 
my  sister,  I  hated  my  husband  ;  but  never  once  did  I  blame 
myself. 

"  My  husband  picked  up  a  wretched  subsistence  by  join- 
ing himself  to  any  low  scheme  of  idle  pleasure  that  was 
going  on.  He  would  follow  a  mountebank,  carry  a  dice- 
box,  or  fiddle  at  the  fair.  He  was  always  taunting  me  for 
that  gentility  on  which  I  so  much  valued  myself.  '  If  I 
had  married  a  poor  working  girl,'  said  he,  '  she  could  now 
have  got  her  bread ;  but  a  fine  lady  without  money  is  a 
disgrace  to  herself,  a  burden  to  her  husband,  and  a  plague 
to  society.'  Every  trial  which  affection  might  have  made 
lighter,  we  doubled  by  animosity ;  at  length  my  husband 
was  detected  in  using  false  dice ;  he  fought  with  his  ac- 
cuser, both  were  seized  by  a  press-gang,  and  sent  to  sea. 
I  was  now  left  to  the  wide  world  ;  and  miserable  as  I  had 
thought  myself  before,  I  soon  found  there  were  higher  de- 
grees of  misery.  I  was  near  my  time,  without  bread  for 
myself,  or  hope  for  my  child.  I  set  out  on  foot  in  search 
of  the  village  where  I  had  heard  my  husband  say  his  friends 
lived.  It  was  a  severe  trial  to  my  proud  heart  to  stoop  to 
those  low  people ;  but  hunger  is  not  delicate,  and  I  was 
near  perishing.  My  husband's  parents  received  me  kindly, 
saying,  that  though  they  had  nothing  but  what  they  earned 
by  their  labor,  yet  I  was  welcome  to  share  their  hard  fare  ; 
for  they  trusted  that  God  who  sent  mouths  would  send  meat 
also.  They  gave  me  a  small  room  in  their  cottage,  and 
furnished  me  with  many  necessaries,  which  they  denied 
themselves." 


374  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS', 

"  O  !  my  child  !"  interrupted  Bragwell,  "every  word  cuts 
me  to  the  heart.  These  poor  people  gladly  gave  thee  of 
their  little,  while  thy  rich  parents  left  thee  to  starve." 

"  How  shall  I  own,"  continued  Mrs.  Incle,  "  that  all  this 
goodness  could  not  soften  my  heart ;  for  God  had  not  yet 
touched  it.  I  received  all  their  kindness  as  m,  favor  done  to 
them  ;  and  thought  them  sufficiently  rewarded  for  their 
attentions  by  the  rank  and  merit  of  their  daughter-in-law. 
When  my  father  brought  me  home  any  little  dainty  which 
he  could  pick  up,  and  my  mother  kindly  dressed  it  for  me, 
I  would  not  condescend  to  eat  it  with  them,  but  devoured  it 
sullenly  in  my  little  garret  alone,  suffering  them  to  fetch 
and  carry  every  thing  I  wanted.  As  my  haughty  behavior 
was  not  likely  to  gain  their  affection,  it  was  plain  they  did 
not  love  me  ;  and  as  I  had  no  notion  that  there  were  any 
motives  to  good  actions  but  fondness,  or  self-interest,  I  was 
puzzled  to  know  what  could  make  them  so  kind  to  me ;  for 
of  the  powerful  and  constraining  law  of  Christian  charity  I 
was  quite  ignorant.  To  cheat  the  weary  hours,  I  looked 
about  for  some  books,  and  found,  among  a  few  others  of  the 
same  cast,  '  Doddridge's  Rise  and  Progress  of  Religion  in 
the  Soul.'  But  all  those  sort  of  books  were  addressed  to 
sinners ;  now  as  T  knew  I  was  not  a  sinner,  I  threw  them 
away  in  disgust.  Indeed,  they  were  ill  suited  to  a  taste 
formed  by  plays  and  novels,  to  which  reading  I  chiefly  trace 
my  ruin  ;  for,  vain  as  I  was,  I  should  never  have  been  guilty 
of  so  wild  a  step  as  to  run  away,  had  not  my  heart  been 
tainted  and  my  imagination  inflamed  by  those  pernicious 
books. 

"  At  length  my  little  George  was  born.  This  added  to 
the  burden  I  had  brought  on  this  poor  family,  but  it  did 
not  diminish  their  kinduess,  and  we  continued  to  share  their 
scanty  fare  without  any  upbraiding  on  their  part,  or  any 
gratitude  on  mine.     Even  this  poor  baby  did  not  soften  my 


OK,    THE     HISTORY     OF    MR.     BRAGWELL.       375 

heart ;  I  wept  over  him,  indeed,  day  and  night,  but  they 
were  tears  of  despair ;  I  was  always  idle,  and  wasted  those 
hours  in  sinful  rnurruurs  at  his  fate,  which  I  should  have 
employed  in  trying  to  maintain  him.  Hardship,  grief,  and 
impatience,  at  length  brought  on  a  fever.  Death  seemed 
now  at  hand,  and  I  felt  a  gloomy  satisfaction  in  the  thought 
of  being  rid  of  my  miseries,  to  which  I  fear  was.  added  a 
sullen  joy,  to  think  that  you,  sir,  and  my  mother,  would  be 
plagued  to  hear  of  my  death  when  it  would  be  too  late  ;  and 
in  this  your  grief  I  anticipated  a  gloomy  sort  of  revenge. 
But  it  pleased  my  merciful  God  not  to  let  me  tbus  perish  in 
my  sins.  My  poor  mother-in-law  sent  for  a  good  clergy- 
man, who  pointed  out  the  clanger  of  dying  in  that  hard  and 
unconverted  state,  so  forcibly,  tbat  I  shuddered  to  find  on 
what  a  dreadful  precipice  I  stood.  He  prayed  with  me 
and  for  me  so  earnestly,  tbat  at  length  God,  who  is  some- 
times pleased  to  magnify  his  own  glory  in  awakening  those 
who  are  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  was  pleased  of  his  free 
grace,  to  open  my  blind  eyes,  and  soften  my  stony  heart. 
I  saw  myself  a  sinner,  and  prayed  to  be  delivered  from  the 
wrath  of  God,  in  comparison  of  which  the  poverty  and  dis- 
grace I  now  suffered  appeared  as  nothing.  To  a  soul  con- 
vinced of  sin,  the  news  of  a  Redeemer  was  a  joyful  sound. 
Instead  of  reproaching  Providence,  or  blaming  my  parents, 
or  abusing  my  husband,  I  now  learned  to  condemn  myself, 
to  adore  that  God  who  had  not  cut  me  off  in  my  ignorance, 
to  pray  for  pardon  for  the  past,  and  grace  for  the  time  to 
come.  I  now  desired  to  submit  to  penury  and  hunger,  so 
that  I  might  but  live  in  the  fear  of  God  in  this  world,  and 
enjoy  his  favor  in  the  next.  I  now  learned  to  compare  my 
present  light  sufferings,  the  consequence  of  my  own  sin, 
with  those  bitter  sufferings  of  my  Saviour,  which  lie  en, lured 
for  my  sake,  and  I  was  ashamed  of  murmuring.  Bui  self- 
ignorance,  conceit,  and  vanity  were  so  rooted  in  me,  that  my 


376 


THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 


progress  was  very  gradual,  and  I  had  the  sorrow  to  feel  how 
much  the  power  of  long  bad  habits  keeps  down  the  growth 
of  religion  in  the  heart,  even  after  the  principle  itself  has 
begun  to  take  root.  I  was  so  ignorant  of  divine  things, 
that  I  hardly  knew  words  to  frame  a  prayer ;  but  when  I 
got  acquainted  with  the  Psalms,  I  there  learned  how  to 
pour  out  the  fullness  of  my  heart,  while  in  the  gospel  I 
rejoiced  to  see  what  great  things  God  had  done  for  my 
soul. 

"  I  now  took  down  once  more  from  the  shelf  '  Dod 
dridge's  Rise  and  Progress  ;'  and  oh  !  with  what  new  eyes 
did  I  read  it !  I  now  saw  clearly,  that  not  only  the  thief 
and  the  drunkard,  the  murderer  and  the  adulterer  are  sin- 
ners, for  that  I  knew  before  !  but  I  found  out  that  the  un- 
believer, the  selfish,  the  proud,  the  worldly-minded,  all,  in 
short,  wrho  bve  without  God  in  the  world,  are  sinners.  I 
did  not  nov-  apply  the  reproofs  I  met  with  to  my  husband, 
or  my  father,  or  other  people,  as  I  used  to  do  ;  but  brought 
them  home  to  myself.  In  this  book  I  traced,  with  strong 
emotions  and  close  self-application,  the  sinner  through  all 
his  course  ;  his  first  awakening,  his  convictions,  repentance, 
joys,  sorrows,  backsliding,  and  recovering,  despondency, 
and  delight,  to  a  triumphant  death-bed  ;  and  God  was 
pleased  to  make  it  a  chief  instrument  in  bringing  me  to 
himself.  Here  it  is,"  continued  Mrs.  Incle,  untying  her 
little  bundle,  and  taking  out  a  book  ;  "accept  it,  my  deal 
father,  and  I  will  pray  that  God  may  bless  it  to  you,  as  He 
has  done  to  me. 

"  When  I  was  able  to  come  down,  I  passed  my  time  with 
these  good  old  people,  and  soon  won  their  affection.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  they  had  very  good  sense,  which  I  never 
had  thought  poor  people  could  have  ;  but,  indeed,  worldly 
persons  do  not  know  how  much  religion,  while  it  mends 
the  heart,  enlightens  the  understanding  also.    I  now  regret- 


OR,    THE     HISTORY    OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       377 

ted  the  eveninge  I  had  wasted  in  my  solitary  garret,  when 
I  might  have  passed  them  in  reading  the  Bible  with  these 
good  folks.  This  was  their  refreshing  cordial  after  a  weary 
day,  which  sweetened  the  pains  of  want  and  age.  I  one 
day  expressed  my  surprise  that  my  unfortunate  husband, 
the  son  of  such  pious  parents,  should  have  turned  out  so 
ill :  the  poor  old  man  said  with  tears,  '  I  fear  we  have  been 
guilty  of  the  sin  of  Eli ;  our  love  was  of  the  wrong  sort. 
Alas !  like  him,  roe  honored  our  son  more  than  God,  and 
God  has  smitten  us  for  it.  We  showed  him  by  our  ex- 
ample, what  was  right ;  but  through  a  false  indulgence,  we 
did  not  correct  him  for  what  was  wrong.  We  were  blind 
to  his  faults.  He  was  a  handsome  boy,  with  sprightly 
parts  :  we  took  too  much  delight  in  these  outward  things. 
He  soon  got  above  our  management,  and  became  vain,  idle, 
and  extravagant ;  and  when  we  sought  to  restrain  him,  it 
was  then  too  late.  We  humbled  ourselves  before  God ;  but 
he  was  pleased  to  make  our  sin  become  its  own  punish- 
ment. Timothy  grew  worse  and  worse,  till  he  was  forced 
to  abscond  for  5.  misdemeanor,  after  which  we  never  saw 
him,  but  have  often  heard  of  him  changing  from  one  idle 
way  of  life  to  another ;  unstable  as  water,  he  has  been  a 
footman,  a  soldier,  a  shopman,  a  gambler,  and  a  strolling 
actor.  With  deep  sorrow  we  trace  back  his  vices  to  our 
ungoverned  fondness  ;  that  lively  and  sharp  wit,  by  which 
he  has  been  able  to  carry  on  such  a  variety  of  wild  schemes, 
might,  if  we  had  used  him  to  bear  reproof  in  his  youth, 
have  enabled  him  to  have  done  great  service  for  God  and 
his  count rv.  But  our  flattery  made  him  wise  in  his  own 
conceit;  and  there  is  more  hope  of  a  fool  than  of  him. 
We  indulged  our  own  vanity,  and  have,  destroyed  his 
soul.' " 

Here  Mr.  Worthy  Btopped  Mrs.  [nele,  saying,  that  when- 
ever he  heard  it  lamented  that  the  children  of  pious  parents 


378  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS 


often  turned  out  so  ill,  he  could  not  help  thinking  that  there 
must  be  frequently  something-  of  this  sort  of  error  in  the 
bringing  them  up ;  he  knew,  indeed,  some  instances  to  the 
contrary,  in  which  the  best  means  had  failed  ;  but  he  be- 
lieved, that  from  Eli,  the  priest,  to  Incle,  the  laborer,  much 
more  than  half  the  failures  of  this  sort  might  be  traced  to 
some  mistake,  or  vanity,  or  bad  judgment,  or  sinful  indulg- 
ence in  the  parents. 

"  I  now  looked  about,"  continued  Mrs.  Incle,  "  in  order 
to  see  in  what  I  could  assist  my  poor  mother  ;  regretting 
more  heartily  than  she  did,  that  I  knew  no  one  thing  that 
was  of  any  use.  I  was  so  desirous  of  humbling  myself 
before  God  and  her,  that  I  offered  even  to  try  to  wash." 
"  You  wash  !"  exclaimed  Bragwell,  starting  up  with  great 
emotion,  "  Heaven  forbid,  that  with  such  a  fortune  and 
education,  Miss  Bragwell  should  be  seen  at  a  washing-tub." 
This  vain  father,  who  could  bear  to  hear  of  her  distresses 
and  her  sins  could  not  bear  to  hear  of  her  washing.  Mr. 
Worthy  stopped  him,  saying,  "  As  to  her  fortune,  you  know 
you  refused  to  give  her  any ;  and  as  to  her  education,  you 
see  it  had  not  taught  her  how  to  do  any  thing  better ;  I  am 
sorry  you  do  not  see  in  this  instance,  the  beauty  of  Chris- 
tian humility.  For  my  own  part  I  set  a  greater  value  on 
such  an  active  proof  of  it,  than  on  a  whole  volume  of  pro- 
fessions." Mr.  Bragwell  did  not  quite  understand  this,  and 
Mrs.  Incle  went  on.  "  What  to  do  to  get  a  penny  I  knew 
not.  Making  of  filagree,  or  fringe,  or  card-purses,  or  cut- 
ting out  paper,  or  dancing  and  singing  was  of  no  use  in 
our  village.  The  shopkeeper,  indeed,  would  have  taken 
me,  if  I  had  known  any  thing  of  accounts  ;  and  the  clergy- 
man could  have  got  me  a  nursery-maid's  place,  if  I  could 
have  done  good  plain  work.  I  made  some  awkward  at- 
tempts to  learn  to  spin  and  knit,  when  my  mother's  wheel 
or  knitting  lay  by,  but  I  spoiled  both  through  my  ignor- 


OR,     THE    HISTORY    OF     MR.     BRAGWELL.       379 

«mce.  At  last  I  luckily  thought  upon  the  fine  netting  I 
used  to  make  for  my  trimmings,  and  it  struck  me  that  I 
might  turn  this  to  some  little  account.  I  procured  some 
twine,  and  worked  early  and  late  to  make  nets  for  fisher- 
men, and  cabbage-nets.  I  was  so  pleased  that  I  had  at 
last  found  an  opportunity  to  show  my  good  will  by  this 
mean  work,  that  I  regretted  my  little  George  was  not  big 
enough  to  contribute  his  share  to  our  support,  by  traveling 
about  to  sell  my  nets." 

"  Cabbage-nets  !"  exclaimed  Bragwell ;  "  there's  no  bear- 
ing  this.  Cabbage-nets !  My  grandson  hawk  cabbage- 
nets  !  How  could  you  think  of  such  a  scandalous  thing  ?" 
"  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Incle,  mildly,  "  I  am  now  convinced  that 
nothing  is  scandalous  which  is  not  wicked.  Besides,  we 
were  in  want ;  and  necessity,  as  well  as  piety,  would  have 
reconciled  me  to  this  mean  trade."  Mr.  Bragwell  groaned, 
md  bade  her  go  on. 

"  In  the  mean  time  my  little  George  grew  a  fine  boy  ; 
and  I  adored  the,  goodness  of  God  who  in  the  sweetness  of  ^ 
maternal  love,  had  given  me  a  reward  for  many  sufferings. 
Instead  of  indulging  a  gloomy  distrust  about  the  fate  of 
this  child,  I  now  resigned  him  to  the  will  of  God.  Instead 
of  lamenting  because  he  was  not  likely  to  be  rich,  I  was 
resolved  to  bring  him  up  with  such  notions  as  might  make 
him  contented  to  be  poor.  I  thought  if  I  could  subdue  all 
vanity  and  selfishness  in  him,  I  should  make  him  a  happier 
man  than  if  I  had  thousands  to  bestow  on  him;  aud  I 
trusted  that  I  should  be  rewarded  for  every  painful  act  of 
self-denial,  by  the  future  virtue  and  happiness  of  my  child. 
Can  you  believe  it,  my  dear  lather,  my  days  now  passe  I 
not  unhappily  1  I  worked  hard  all  day,  and  that  alone  is  a 
source  of  happiness  beyond  what  the  idle  can  guess.  After 
my  child  was  asleep  at  night,  I  read  a  chapter  in  tin'  Bible 
to  my  parents,  whose  eyes  now  began  to  fail  them.     We 


380  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS', 

then  thanked  God  over  our  frugal  supper  of  potatoes^  -and 
talked  over  the  holy  men  of  old,  the  saints,  and  the  martyrs 
who  would  have  thought  our  homely  fare  a  luxury.     We 

.  compared  our  peace,  and  liberty,  and  safety,  with  their 
bonds,  and  imprisonment,  and  tortures  ;  and  should  have 
been  ashamed  of  a  murmur.  We  then  joined  in  prayer,  in 
which  my  absent  parents  and  my  husband  were  never  for- 
gotten, and  went  to  rest  in  charity  with  the  whole  world, 
and  at  peace  with  our  own  souls." 

"  Oh  !  my  forgiving  child  !"  interrupted  Mr.  Bragwell, 
sobbing ;  "  and  didst  thou  really  pray  for  thy  unnatural 
father  ?  and  didst  thou  lay  thee  down  in  rest  and  peace  ? 
Then,  let  me  tell  thee,  thou  wast  better  off  than  thy  mother 
and  I  were.     But  no  more  of  this  ;  go  on." 

"  Whether  my  father-in-law  had  worked  beyond  his 
strength,  in  order  to  support  me  and  my  child,  I  know  not, 
but  he  was  taken  dangerously  ill.  While  he  lay  in  this 
state,  he  received  an  account  that  my  husband  was  dead  in 

^the  West  Indies  of  the  yellow  fever,  which  has  carried  off 
such  numbers  of  our  countrymen ;  we  all  wept  together, 
and  prayed  that  his  awful  death  might  quicken  us  in  pre- 
paring for  our  own.  This  shock  joined  to  the  fatigue  of 
nursing  her  sick  husband,  soon  brought  my  poor  mother  to 
death's  door.  I  nursed  them  both,  and  felt  a  satisfaction  in 
giving  them  all  I  had  to  bestow,  my  attendance,  my  tears, 
and  my  prayers.  I,  who  was  once  so  nice  and  so  proud,  so 
disdainful  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  and  so  impatient  under 
the  smallest  inconvenience,  was  now  enabled  to  glorify  God 
by  my  activity  and  by  my  submission.  Though  the  sor- 
rows of  my  heart  were  enlarged,  I  cast  my  burden  on  Him 
who  cares  for  the  weary  and  heavy-laden.  After  having 
watched  by  these  poor  people  the  whole  night,  I  sat  down 
to  breakfast  on  my  dry  crust  and  coarse  dish  of  tea,  with- 
out a  murmur :  my  greatest  grief  was,  lest  I  should  bring 


OR,    THE     HISTORT     OF    MR.     BEAGWELL.       381 

away  the  infection  to  my  dear  D037 ;  for  the  fever  was  now 
become  putrid.  I  prayed  to  know  what  it  was  my  duty  to 
do  between  my  dying  parents  and  my  helpless  child.  To 
take  care  of  the  sick  and  aged,  seemed  to  be  my  first  duty ; 
so  I  offered  up  my  child  to  Him  who  is  the  father  of  the 
fatherless,  and  He  in  mercy  spared  hirn  to  me. 

"  The  cheerful  piety  with  which  these  good  people 
breathed  their  last,  proved  to  me  that  the  temper  of  mind 
with  which  the  pious  poor  commonly  meet  death,  is  the 
grand  compensation  made  them  by  Providence  for  all  the 
hardships  of  their  inferior  condition.  If  they  have  had 
few  joys  and  comforts  in  life  already,  and  have  still  fewer 
hopes  in  store,  is  not  all  fully  made  up  to  them  by  their 
being  enabled  to  leave  this  world  with  stronger  desires  of 
heaven,  and  without  those  bitter  regrets  after  the  good 
things  of  this  life,  which  add  to  the  dying  tortures  of  the 
worldly  rich  ?  To  the  forlorn  and  destitute,  death  is  not  so 
terrible  as  it  is  to  him  who  sits  at  ease  in  his  possessions, 
and  who  fears  that  this  night  his  soul  shall  be  required  of 
him." 

Mr.  Bragwell  felt  this  remark  more  deeply  than  his 
daughter  meant  he  should.  He  wept,  and  bade  her  pro- 
ceed. 

"  I  followed  my  departed  parents  to  the  same  grave,  and 
wept  over  them,  but  not  as  one  who  had  no  hope.  They 
had  neither  houses  nor  lands  to  leave  me,  but  they  had  left 
me  their  Bible,  their  blessing,  and  their  example,  of  which 
I  humbly  trust  I  shall  feel  the  benefits  when  all  the  riches 
of  this  world  shall  have  an  end.  Their  few  effects,  consist- 
ing of  some  poor  household  goods,  and  some  working-tools, 
hardly  sufficed  to  pay  their  funeral  expenses.  I  was  soon 
attacked  with  the  same  fever,  and  saw  myself,  as  I  thought, 
dying  the  second  time  ;  my  danger  was  the  same,  but  my 
views  were  changed.     I  now  saw  eternity  in  a  more  awful 


382  THE     TWO     WEALTHY    FARMERS; 

light  than  I  had  done  before,  when  I  wickedly  thought 
death  might  be  gloomily  called  upon  as  a  refuge  from  every 
common  trouble.  Though  I  had  still  reason  to  be  humble 
on  account  of  my  sin,  yet,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  saw 
death  stripped  of  his  sting  and  robbed  of  his  terrors, 
through  him  who  loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for  me  ;  and 
in  the  extremity  of  pain,  my  soul  rejoiced  in  God  my 
Saviour. 

"  I  recovered,  however,  and  was  chiefly  supported  by  the 
kind  clergyman's  charity.     When  I  felt  myself  nourished 
and  cheered  by  a  little  tea  or  broth,  which  he  daily  sent  me 
from  his  own  slender  provision,  my  heart  smote  me,  to  think 
how  I  had  daily  sat  down  at  home  to  a  plentiful  dinner,  with* 
out  any  sense  of  thankfulness  for  my  own  abundance,  or 
without  inquiring  whether  my  poor  sick  neighbors  were 
starving :  and   I  sorrowfully  remembered,  that  what  my 
poor  sister  and  I  used  to  waste  through  daintiness,  would 
now  have  comfortably  fed  myself  and  child.     Believe  me, 
my  dear  mother,  a  laboring  man  who  has  been  brought 
low  by  a  fever,  might  often  be  restored  to  his  work  some 
weeks  sooner,  if  on  his  recovery  he  was  nourished  and 
strengthened  by  a  good  bit  from  a  farmer's  table.     Less 
than  is  often  thrown  to  a  favorite  spaniel  would  suffice  ;  so 
that  the  expense  would  be  almost  nothing  to  the  giver, 
while  to  the  receiver  it  would  bring  health,  and  strength, 
and  comfort,  and  recruited  life.     And  it  is  with  regret  I 
must  observe,  that  young  women  in  our  station  are  less  at- 
tentive to  the  comforts  of  the  poor,  less  active  in  visiting 
the  cottages  of  the  sick,  less  desirous  of  instructing  the 
young,  and  working  for  the  aged,  than  many  ladies  of 
higher  rank.     The  multitude  of  opportunities  of  this  sort 
which  we  neglect,  among  the  families  of  our  father's  dis- 
tressed tenants  and  workmen,  will,  I  fear,  one  day  appear 
against  us. 


OE,     THE     HISTORY    OF    MR.     BRAGWELL.       383 

"  By  the  time  I  was  tolerably  recovered,  I  was  forced  to 
leave  the  house.  I  had  ho  human  prospect  of  assistance. 
I  humbly  asked  of  God  to  direct  my  steps,  and  to  give  me 
entire  obedience  to  his  will.  I  then  cast  my  eye  mourn- 
fully on  my  child;  and,  though  prayer  had  relieved  my 
heart  of  a  load  wbich  without  it  would  have  been  intoler- 
able, my  tears  flowed  fast,  while  I  cried  out  in  the  bitterness 
of  my  soul,  How  many  hired  servants  of  my  father  have 
bread  enough,  and  to  spare,  and  I  perish  with  hunger. 
This  text  appeared  a  kind  of  answer  to  my  prayer,  and 
gave  me  courage  to  make  one  more  attempt  to  soften  you 
in  my  favor.  I  resolved  to  set  out  directly  to  find  you,  to 
confess  my  disobedience,  and  to  beg  a  scanty  pittance  with 
which  I  and  my  child  might  be  meanly  supported  in  some 
distant  county,  where  we  should  not,  by  our  presence,  dis- 
grace our  more  happy  relations.  We  set  out  and  traveled 
as  fast  as  my  weak  health  and  poor  George's  little  feet  and 
ragged  shoes  would  permit.  I  brought  a  little  bundle  of 
such  work  and  necessaries  as  I  had  left,  by  selling  which  we 
subsisted  on  the  road."  "  I  hope,"  interrupted  Bragwell, 
"  there  were  no  cabbage-nets  in  it  ?"  "  M  least,"  said  her 
mother,  "  I  hope  you  did  not  sell  them  near  home  V\  "  No  ; 
I  had  none  left,"  said  Mrs.  Incle,  "  or  I  should  have  done  it. 
I  got  many  a  lift  iu  a  wagon  for  my  child  and  my  bundle, 
which  was  a  great  relief  to  me,  as  I  should  have  had  both 
to  cany.  And  here  I  can  not  help  saying,  I  wish  drivers 
would  not  be  too  hard  in  their  demands  ;  if  they  help  a  poor 
sick  traveler  on  a  mile  or  two,  it  proves  a  great  relief  to 
wary  bodies  and  naked  feet ;  and  such  little  cheap  charities 
may  be  considered  as  the  cup  of  cold  water,  which,  it  given 
on  right  grounds,  shall  not  lose  its  reivardr  Here  Brag 
well  sighed  to  think  that  when  mounted  on  his  fine  bay 
mare,  or  drivinn-  his  neat  chaise,  it  had  never  once  crossed 
his  mind  that  the  poor  way-worn   foot  traveler  wa*  not 


384  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS; 

equally  at  his  ease,  nor  had  it  ever  occurred  to  him  that 
shoes  were  a  necessary  accommodation.  Those  who  want 
nothing  are  apt  to  forget  how  many  there  are  who  want 
every  thing.  Mrs.  Incle  went  on  ;  "I  got  to  this  village 
about  seven  this  morning  ;  and  while  I  sat  on  the  church- 
yard wall  to  rest  and  meditate  how  I  should  make  myself 
known  at  home,  I  saw  a  funeral ;  I  inquired  whose  it  was, 
and  learned  it  was  my  sister's.  This  was  too  much  for  me, 
and  I  sank  down  in  a  fit,  and  knew  nothing  that  happened 
to  me  from  that  moment,  till  I  found  myself  in  the  work- 
house with  my  father  and  Mr.  Worthy." 

Here  Mrs.  Incle  stopped.  Grief,  shame,  pride,  and  re- 
morse, had  quite  overcome  Mr.  Bragwell.  He  wept  like  a 
child,  and  said  he  hoped  his  daughter  would  pray  for  him  ; 
for  that  he  was  not  in  a  condition  to  pray  for  himself,  though 
he  found  nothing  else  could  give  him  any  comfort.  His  deep 
dejection  brought  on  a  fit  of  sickness.  "  O  !  said  he,  I  now 
begin  to  feel  an  expression  in  the  sacrament  which  I  used 
to  repeat  without  thinking  it  had  any  meaning,  the  remem- 
brance of  my  sins  is  grievous,  the  burden  of  them  is  intoler- 
able. O  !  it  is  awful  to  think  what  a  sinner  a  man  may  be, 
and  yet  retain  a  decent  character  !  How  many  thousands 
are  in  my  condition,  taking  to  themselves  all  the  credit  of 
their  prosperity,  instead  of  giving  God  the  glory  !  heaping 
up  riches  to  their  hurt,  instead  of  dealing  their  bread  to  the 
hungry  !  O  !  let  those  who  hear  of  the  Bragwell  family, 
never  say  that  vanity  is  a  little  sin.  In  me  it  has  been  the 
fruitful  parent  of  a  thousand  sins — selfishness,  hardness  of 
heart,  forgetfulness  of  God.  In  one  of  my  sons  vanity  was 
the  cause  of  rapine,  injustice  extravagance,  ruin,  self-murder. 
Both  my  daughters  were  undone  by  vanity,  thought  it  only 
wore  the  more  harmless  shape  of  dress,  idleness,  and  dissi- 
pation. The  husband  of  my  daughter  Incle  it  destroyed, 
by  leading  him  to  live   above  his  station,  and    to   despise 


OR,     THE     HISTORY    OF    MR.     BRAGWELL.       385 

labor.  Vanity  insnarecl  the  souls  even  of  his  pious  parents, 
for  while  it  led  fhem  to  wish  their  son  in  a  better  condition, 
it  led  them  to  allow  such  indulgences  as  were  unfit  for  his 
own.  O !  you  who  hear  of  us,  humble  yourselves  under 
the  mighty  hand  of  God  ;  resist  high  thoughts ;  let  every 
imao-ination  be  brought  into  obedience  to  the  Son  of  God. 
If  you  set  a  value  on  finery  look  into  that  grave ;  behold 
the  moldering  body  of  my  Betsy,  who  now  says  to  Cor- 
ruption, thou  art  my  father,  and  to  the  worm,  thou  art  my 
mother,  and  my  sister.  Look  to  the  bloody  and  brainless 
head  of  her  husband.  O,  Mr.  Worthy,  how  does  Providence 
mock  at  humau  foresight !  I  have  been  greedy  of  gain, 
that  the  son  of  Mr.  Squeeze  might  be  a  great  man ;  he  is 
dead  ;  while  the  child  of  Timothy  Incle,  whom  I  had  doomed 
to  beggary,  will  be  my  heir.  Mr.  Worthy,  to  you  I  com- 
mit this  boy's  education;  teach  him  to  value  his  immortal 
soul  more,  and  the  good  things  of  this  life  less  than  I  have 
done.  Bring  him  up  in  the  fear  of  God,  and  in  the  govern- 
ment of  his  passions.  Teach  him  that  unbelief  and  pride 
are  at  the  root  of  all  sin.  I  have  found  this  to  ray  cost.  I 
trusted  in  my  riches ;  I  said,  '  To-morrow  shall  be  as  this 
day  and  more  abundant.'  I  did  not  remember  that  for 
all  these  things  God  would  bring  me  to  judgment.  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  believe  in  a  judgment:  I  am  not  sure  that  I  be- 
lieve in  a  God." 

Bragwell  at  length  grew  better,  but  he  never  recovered 
his  spirits.  The  conduct  of  Mrs.  Incle  through  life  was 
that  of  an  humble  Christian.  She  sold  all  her  sister's  finery 
which  her  father  had  given  her,  and  gave  the  money  to  the 
poor ;  saying,  "  It  did  not  become  one  who  professed  pen- 
itence to  return  to  the  gayeties  of  life."  Mr.  Bragwell  did 
not  oppose  this;  uot  that  he  had  fully  acquired  a  just  no- 
tion of  the  sell-denying  spirit  of  religion,  but.  having  a 
head   not  very  clear  at  making  distinctions,  he  was  never 

11 


386  THE     TWO     WEALTHY     FARMERS. 

able  after  the  sight  of  Squeeze's  mangled  body,  to  think  of 
gayety  and  grandeur,  without  thinking  at  the  same  time  of 
a  pistol  and  bloody  brains;  for,  as  his  first  introduction  into 
gay  life  had  presented  him  with  all  these  objects  at  one 
view,  he  never  afterward  could  separate  them  in  his  mind. 
He  even  kept  his  fine  beaufet  of  plate  always  shut ;  because 
it  brought  to  his  mind  the  grand  unpaid-for  sideboard  that 
he  li.id  seen  laid  out  for  Mr.  Squeeze's  supper,  to  the  remem- 
brance of  which  he  could  not  help  tacking  the  idea  of 
debts,  prisons,  executions,  and  self-murder. 

Mr.  Brao-well's  heart  had  been  so  buried  in  the  love  of 
the  world,  and  evil  habits  had  become  so  rooted  in  him,  that 
the  progress  he  made  in  religion  was  very  slow  ;  yet  he 
earnestly  prayed  and  struggled  against  sin  and  vanity  ;  and 
when  his  unfeeling  wife  declared  she  could  not  love  the 
boy  unless  he  was  called  by  their  name  instead  of  Incle, 
Bragwell  would  never  consent,  saying  he  stood  in  need  of 
every,  help  against  pride.  He  also  got  the  letter  which 
Squeeze  wrote  just  before  he  shot  himself,  framed  and  glaz- 
ed ;  this  he  hung  up  in  his  chamber,  and  made  it  a  rule  to 
go  and  read  it  as  often  as  he  found  his  heart  disposed  to 

VANITY. 


'TIS  ALL  FOR  THE  BEST.* 


"  It  is  all  for  the  best,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  whenever  any 
misfortune  befell  her.  She  had  got  such  a  habit  of  vindi- 
cating Providence,  that  instead  of  weeping  and  wailing 
under  the  most  trying  dispensations,  her  chief  care  was  to 
convince  herself  and  others,  that  however  great  might  be 
her  sufferings,  and  however  little  they  could  be  accounted 
for  at  present,  yet  that  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  could  not 
but  do  right.  Instead  of  trying  to  clear  herself  from  any 
possible  blame  that  might  attach  to  her  under  those  mis- 
fortunes which,  to  speak  after  the  manner  of  men,  she  might 
seem  not  to  have  deserved,  she  was  always  the  first  to  justify 
Him  who  had  inflicted  it.  It  was  not  that,  she  supersti- 
tiuusly  converted  every  visitation  into  a  punishment ;  she 
entertained  more  correct  ideas  of  tliat  (Jod  who  overrules 
all  events.  She  knew  that  some  calamities  were  sent  to  ex- 
ercise her  faith,  others  to  purify  her  heart  ;  some  to  chas- 
tise her  rebellious  will,  and  all  to  remind  Ixt  that  this  "  was 
not  her  rest;"  that  this  world  was  not  the  scene  for  the  full 
and  final  display  of  retributive  justice.  The  honor  of  God 
was  dearer  to  her  than  ber  own  credit,  and  her  chief  desire 
was  to  turn  all  events  to  bis  glory. 

*  A  profligate  wit  of  A  neighboring  country  having  attempted  to 
turn  Hiis  doctrine  into  ridicule,  under  the  same  title  here  assumed, 
it  occurred  to  the  author  that  it  might  not  be  altog  -eless  to 

illustrate  the  same  doctrine  on  Christian  principles. 


388  'tis   all   for   the    best. 

Though  Mrs.  Simpson  was  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman, 
and  the  widow  of  a  genteel  tradesman,  she  had  been  re- 
duced by  a  succession  of  misfortunes,  to  accept  of  a  room 
in  an  almshouse.  Instead  of  repining  at  the  change  ;  in- 
stead of  dwelling  on  her  former  gentility,  and  saying,  "how 
handsomely  she  had  lived  once  ;  and  how  hard  it  was  to  be 
reduced  ;  and  she  little  thought  ever  to  end  her  days  in  an 
alms-house" — which  is  the  common  language  of  those  who 
were  never  so  well  off  before — she  was  thankful  that  such 
an  asylum  was  provided  for  want  and  age  ;  and  blessed  God 
that  it  was  to  the  Christian  dispensation  alone  that  such 
pious  institutions  owed  their  birth. 

One  fine  evening,  as  she  was  sitting  reading  her  Bible  on 
the  little  bench  shaded  with  honey-suckles,  just  before  her 
door,  who  should  come  and  sit  down  by  her  but  Mrs.  Betty, 
who  had  formerly  been  lady's  maid  at  the  nobleman's  house 
in  the  village  of  which  Mrs.  Simpson's  father  had  been  min- 
ister. Betty,  after  a  life  'of  vanity,  was,  by  a  train  of  mis- 
fortunes, brought  to  this  very  alms-house  ;  and  though  she 
had  taken  no  care  by  frugality  and  prudence  to  avoid  it,  she 
thought  it  a  hardship  and  disgrace,  instead  of  being  thank- 
ful, as  she  ought  to  have  beeu,  for  such  a  retreat.  At  first 
she  did  not  know  Mrs.  Simpson  ;  her  large  bonnet,  cloak, 
and  brown  stuff  gown  (for  she  always  made  her  appearance 
conform  to  her  circumstances)  being  very  different  from  the 
dress  she  had  been  used  to  wear  when  Mrs.  Betty  had  seen 
her  dining  at  the  great  house ;  and  time  and  sorrow  had 
much  altered  her  countenance.  But  when  Mrs.  Simpson 
kindly  addressed  her  as  an  old  acquaintance,  she  screamed 
with  surprise.  "  What !  you,  madam  ?"  cried  she ;  "  you  in 
an  alms-house,  living  on  charity  ;  you,  who  used  to  be  so 
charitable  yourself,  that  you  never  suffered  any  distress  in 
the  parish  which  you  could  prevent  ?"  "  That  may  be  one 
reason,  Betty,"  replied  Mrs.  Simpson,  "  why  Providence  has 


'tis   all   for  the    best.  389 

provided  this  refuge  for  ray  old  age.  And  my  heart  over- 
flows with  gratitude  when  I  look  back  on  his  goodness." 
"  No  such  great  goodness,  methinks,"  said  Betty ;  "  why, 
you  were  born  and  bred  a  lady,  and  are  now  reduced  to 
live  in  an  alms-house."  "  Betty,  I  was  born  and  bred  a 
sinner,  undeserving  of  the  mercies  I  have  received."  "  No 
such  great  mercies,"  said  Betty.  "  Why,  I  heard  you  had 
been  turned  out  of  doors  ;  that  your  husband  had  broke  ; 
and  that  you  had  been  in  danger  of  starving,  though  I  did 
not  know  what  was  become  of  you."  "  It  is  all  true,  Betty, 
glory  be  to  God  !  it  is  ail  true." 

"  Well,"  said  Betty,  "  you  are  an  odd  sort  of  a  gentlewo- 
man. If  from  a  prosperous  condition  I  had  been  made  a 
bankrupt,  a  widow,  and  a  beggar,  I  should  have  thought  it 
no  such  mighty  matter  to  be  thankful  for :  but  there  is  no 
accounting  for  taste.  The  neighbors  used  to  say  that  all 
your  troubles  must  needs  be  a  judgment  upon  you  ;  but  I 
who  knew  how  good  you  were,  thought  it  very  hard  you 
should  suffer  so  much  ;  but  now  I  see  you  reduced  to  an 
alms-house,  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  but  I  am  afraid 
the  neighbors  were  in  the  right,  and  that  so  many  misfor- 
tunes could  never  have  happened  to  you  without  you  had 
committed  a  great  many  sins  to  deserve  them ;  for  I  always 
thought  that  God  is  so  just  that  he  punishes  us  for  all  our 
bad  actions,  and  rewards  us  for  all  our  good  ones."  "  So 
he  does,  Betty  ;  but  he  does  it  in  his  own  way,  and  at  his 
own  time,  and  not  according  to  our  notions  of  good  and 
evil  ;  f<-r  his  ways  are  not  as  our  ways.  God,  indeed,  pun- 
ishes the  bad,  and  rewards  the  good  ;  but  he  does  not  do  it 
fully  and  finally  in  this  world.  Indeed  he*  does  not  set  such 
a  value  on  outward  tilings  as  to  make  riches,  and  rank,  and 
beauty,  and  health,  the  reward  of  piety  ;  that  would  be  act- 
ing like  weak  and  erring  men,  and  not  like  a  just  and  holy 
God.     <  >ur  belief  in  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punish- 


390  'tis   all   for   the   best. 

ments  is  not  always  so  strong  as  it  ought  to  be,  even  now  ; 
but  bow  totally  would  our  faith  fail,  if  we  regularly  saw 
every  thing  made  even  iu  this  world.  We  shall  lose  noth- 
ing by  having  pay-day  put  oft".  The  longest  voyages  make 
the  best  returns.  So  far  am  I  from  thinking'  that  God  is 
less  just,  and  future  happiness  less  certain,  because  I  see  the 
wicked  sometimes  prosper,  and  the  righteous  sutler  in  this 
world,  that  I  am  rather  led  to  believe  that  God  is  more  just 
and  heaven  more  certain  :  for,  in  the  first  place,  God  will 
not  put  off  his  favorite  children  with  so  poor  a  lot  as  the 
good  things  of  this  world  ;  and  next,  seeing  that  the  best 
men  here  below  do  not  often  attain  to  the  best  things ;  why 
it  only  serves  to  strengthen  my  belief  that  they  are  not  the 
best  things  in  His  eye  ;  and  He  has  most  assuredly  reserved 
for  those  that  love  Him  such  '  good  things  as  eye  has  not 
seen  nor  ear  heard.'  God,  by  keeping  man  in  Paradise 
while  he  was  innocent,  and  turning  him  into  this  world  as 
soon  as  he  had  sinned,  gave  a  plain  proof  that  he  never  in- 
tended the  world,  even  in  its  happiest  state,  as  a  place  of 
reward.  My  father  gave  me  good  principles  and  useful 
knowledge  ;  and  while  he  taught  me  by  a  habit  of  constant 
employment  to  be,  if  I  may  so  say,  independent  of  the 
world ;  yet  he  led  me  to  a  constant  sense  of  dependence  on 
-God — "  "  I  do  not  see,  however,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Betty, 
"  that  your  religion  has  been  of  any  use  to  you.  It  has 
been  so  far  from  preserving  you  from  trouble,  that  I  think 
you  have  had  more  than  the  usual  share." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson  ;  "  nor  did  Christianity  ever 
pretend  to  exempt  its  followers  from  trouble  ;  this  is  no 
part  of  the  promise.  Nay,  the  contrary  is  rather  stipulated  : 
'  In  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation.'  But  if  it  has  not 
taught  me  to  escape  sorrow,  I  humbly  hope  it  has  taught 
me  how  to  bear  it.  If  it  has  taught  me  not  to  feel,  it  has 
taught  me  not  to  murmur.     I  will  tell  you  a  little  of  my 


TIS     ALL     FOR    THE     BEST.  391 

story  :  as  my  father  could  save  little  or  nothing  for  me,  he 
was  desirous  of* seeing  me  married  to  a  young  gentleman  in 
the  neighborhood,  who  expressed  a  regard  for  me.  But 
while  he  was  anxiously  engaged  in  bringing  this  about,  my 
good  father  died." 

"  How  very  unlucky,"  interrupted  Betty. 

"  No,  Betty,"  replied  Mrs.  Simpson,  "  it  was  very  provi- 
dential ;  this  man,  though  he  maintained  a  decent  character, 
had  a  good  fortune,  and  lived  soberly,  yet  he  would  not 
have  made  me  happy."  "Why,  what  could  you  want 
more  of  a  man  ?"  said  Betty.  "  Religion,"  returned  Mrs. 
Simpson.  "As  my  father  made  a  creditable  appearance, 
and  was  very  charitable  ;  and  as  I  was  an  only  child,  this 
gentleman  concluded  that  he  could  give  me  a  consider- 
able fortune ;  for  he  did  not  know  that  all  the  poor  in  his 
parish  are  the  children  of  every  pious  clergyman.  Finding 
I  had  little  or  nothing  left  me,  he  withdrew  his  attentions." 
"  What  a  sad  thing  !"  cried  Betty.  "  No,  it  was  all  for  the 
best ;  Providence  overruled  his  covetousness  for  my  good. 
I  could  not  have  been  happy  with  a  man  whose  soul  was  set 
on  the  perishable  things  of  this  world  ;  nor  did  I  esteem 
him,  though  I  labored  to  submit  my  own  inclinations  to 
those  of  my  kind  father.  The  very  circumstance  of  being 
left  penniless  produced  the  direct  contrary  effect  on  Mr. 
Simpson  :  he  was  a  sensible  young  man,  engaged  in  a  pros- 
perous business.  We  had  long  highly  valued  each  other; 
but  while  my  father  lived,  he  thought  me  above  his  hopes. 
We  were  married  ;  I  found  him  an  amiable,  industrious, 
good-tempered  man  ;  he  respected  religion  and  religious 
people;  but  with  excellent  dispositions,  1  had  the  grief  to 
find  him  less  pious  than  I  had  hoped.  lie  was  ambitious, 
and  a  little  too  much  immersed  in  worldly  schemes; 
and  though  I  knew  it  was  all  done  for  my  sake,  yet  that 
did  not  bliod  me  so  far  as  to  make  me  think  it  right.     He 


3t>2  'tis   all   for  the   best. 

attached  himself  so  eagerly  to  business,  that  he  thought 
every  hour  lost  in  which  he  was  not  doing  something  that 
would  tend  to  raise  me  to  what  he  called  my  proper  rank. 
The  more  prosperous  he  grew  the  less  religious  he  became  : 
and  I  began  to  find  that  one  might  be  unhappy  with  a  hus- 
band one  tenderly  loved.  One  day  as  he  was  standing  on 
some  steps  to  reach  down  a  parcel  of  goods,  he  tell  from 
the  top  and  broke  his  leg  in  two  places." 

"  What  a  dreadful  misfortune  !"  said  Mrs.  Betty.  "  What 
a  sigual  blessing  !"  said  Mrs.  Simpson.  "  Here  I  am  sure  1 
had  reason  to  say  all  was  for  the  best ;  from  the  very  hour 
in  which  my  outward  troubles  began,  I  date  the  beginning 
of  my  happiness.  Severe  suffering,  a  near  prospect  of 
death,  absence  from  the  world,  silence,  reflection,  and  above 
all,  the  divine  blessing  on  the  prayers  and  Scriptures  I  read  to 
him,  were  the  means  used  by  our  merciful  Father  to  turn  my 
husband's  heart.  During  his  confinement  he  was  awakened 
to  a  deep  sense  of  his  own  sinfulness,  of  the  vanity  of  all 
this  world  has  to  bestow,  and  of  his  great  need  of  a  Sav- 
iour. It  was  many  months  before  he  could  leave  his  bed ; 
duiing  this  time  his  business  was  neglected.  His  principal 
clerk  took  advantage  of  his  absence  to  receive  large  sums 
of  money  in  his  name,  and  absconded.  On  hearing  of  this 
great  loss,  our  creditors  came  faster  upon  us  than  we  could 
answer  their  demands ;  they  grew  more  impatient  as  we 
were  less  able  to  satisfy  them  ;  one  misfortune  followed  an- 
other, till  at  lengh  Mr.  Simpson  became  a  bankrupt." 

"  What  an  evil !"  exclaimed  Betty.  "  Yet  it  led  in  the 
end  to  much  good,"  resumed  Mis.  Simpson.  "We  were 
forced  to  leave  the  town  in  which  we  had  lived  with  so 
much  credit  and  comfort,  and  to  betake  ourselves  to  a  mean 
lodging  in  a  neighboring  village,  till  my  husband's  strength 
should  be  recruited,  and  till  we  could  have  time  to  look 
•about  us  and  see  what  was  to  be  done.     The  first  night  we 


'tis   all   for  the   best.  393 

got  to  this  poor  dwelling,  my  husband  felt  very  sorrowful, 
not  for  his  own  sake,  but  that  he  had  brought  so  much 
poverty  on  me,  whom  he  had  so  dearly  loved ;  I,  on  the 
contrary,  was  unusually  cheerful,  for  the  blessed  change  in 
his  mind  had  more  thau  reconciled  me  to  the  sad  change 
in  his  circumstances.     I  was  contented  to  live  with  him  in 
a  poor  cottage  for  a  few  years  on  earth,  if  it  might  contrib- 
ute to  our  spending  a  blessed  eternity  together  in  heaven. 
I  said  to  him, '  Instead  of  lamenting  that  we  are  now  re- 
duced to  want  all  the  comforts  of  life,  I  have  sometimes 
been  almost  ashamed  to  live  in  the  full  enjoyments  of  them, 
when  I  have  reflected  that  my  Saviour  not  only  chose  to 
deny  himself  all  these  enjoyments,  but  even  to  live  a  life  of 
hardship  for  my  sake  ;  not  one  of  his  numerous  miracles 
tended  to  his  own  comfort ;  and  though  we  read  at  differ- 
ent times  that  he  both  hungered  and  thirsted,  yet  it  was  not 
for  his  own  gratification  that  he  once  changed  water  into 
wine  ;  and  I  have  often  been  struck  with  the  near  position 
of  that  chapter  in  which  this  miracle  is  recorded,  to  that  in 
which  he  thirsted  for  a  draught  of  water  at  the  well  in  Sa- 
maria.*    It  was  for  others,  not  himself,  that  even  the  hum- 
ble sustenance  of  barley-bread  was  multiplied.     See  here, 
we  have  a  Bed  left  us  (I  had,  indeed,  nothing  but  straw  to 
stuff  it  with),  but  the  Saviour  of  the  world  "  had  not  where 
to  lay  his  head.''  '     My  husband  smiled  through   his  tears, 
and  we  sat  down  to  suppr-r.     It  consisted  of  a  roll  and  a 
bit  of  cheese  which  I  had  brought  with  me,  and  we  eat  it 
thankfully.     Seeing  Mr.  Simpson  beginning  to  relapse  into 
distrust,  the  following  conversation,  as  nearly  as  I  can  re- 
member, took  place  between  us.     lie  began  by  remarking, 
that  ii  was  ,-i  mysterious  Providence  thai  lie  bad  been  less 
prosperous  since  he    had    Kirn    less  attached  to  tin'  world, 
and  that  his  endeavors  had  not  been  followed  by  that  suc- 
*  See  John,  chap.  ii. ;  and  Johu,  chap.  iv. 


394  'tis   all   for  the   best. 

cess  which  usually  attends  industry.  I  took  the  liberty  to 
reply  :  '  Your  heavenly  Father  sees  on  which  side  your 
danger  lies,  and  is  mercifully  bringing  you,  by  these  disap- 
pointments, to  trust  less  in  the  world  and  more  in  himself. 
My  dear  Mr.  Simpson,'  added  I,  '  we  trust  every  body  but 
God.  As  children,  we  obey  our  parents  implicitly,  because 
we  are  taught  to  believe  all  is  for  our  good  which  they 
command  or  forbid.  If  we  undertake  a  voyage,  we  trust 
entirely  to  the  skill  and  conduct  of  the  pilot ;  we  never  tor- 
ment ourselves  in  thinking  he  will  carry  us  east,  when  he  has 
promised  to  carry  us  west.  If  a  dear  and  tried  friend  makes 
us  a  promise,  we  depend  on  him  for  the  performance,  and 
do  not  wound  his  feelings  by  our  suspicions.  When  you 
used  to  go  your  annual  journey  to  London,  in  the  mail- 
coach,  you  confided  yourself  to  the  care  of  the  coachman 
that  he  would  carry  you  where  he  had  engaged  to  do  so  ; 
you  were  not  anxiously  watching  him,  and  distrusting  and 
inquiring  at  every  turning.  When  the  doctor  sends  home 
your  medicine,  don't  you  so  fully  trust  in  his  ability  and 
good  will  that  you  swallow  it  down  in  full  confidence  '. 
You  never  think  of  inquiring  what  are  the  ingredients,  why 
they  are  mixed  in  that  particular  way,  why  there  is  more 
of  one  and  less  of  another,  and  why  they  are  bitter  instead 
of  sweet !  If  one  dose  does  not  cure  you,  he  orders  an- 
other, and  changes  the  medicine  when  he  sees  the  first  does 
you  no  good,  or  that  by  long  use  the  same  medicine  has  lost 
its  effect ;  if  the  weaker  fails,  he  prescribes  you  a  stronger ; 
you  swallow  all,  you  submit  to  all,  never  questioning  the 
skill  or  kindness  of  the  physician.  God  is  the  only  being 
whom  we  do  not  trust,  though  He  is  the  only  one  who  is 
fully  competent,  both  in  will  and  power,  to  fulfill  all  his 
promises ;  and  who  has  solemnly  and  repeatedly  pledged 
himself  to  fulfill  them  in  those  Scriptures  which  we  receive 
«s  his  revealed  will.' 


'tis    all   for   the    bejt.  395 

i 

"  Mr.  Simpson  thanked  me  for  my  little  sermon,  as  he 

called  it ;  but' said,  at  the  same  time,  that  what  made  my 
exhortations  produce  a  powerful  effect  on  his  mind  was,  the 
patient  cheerfulness  with  which  he  was  pleased  to  say  I 
bore  my  share  in  our  misfortunes.  A  submissive  behavior, 
he  said,  was  the  best  practical  illustration  of  a  real  faith. 
When  we  had  thanked  God  for  our  supper,  we  prayed  to- 
gether ;  after  which  we  read  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the 
epistle  to  the  Hebrews.  When  my  husband  had  finished 
it,  he  said,  '  Surely,  if  God's  chief  favorites  have  been  mar- 
tyrs, is  not  that  a  sufficient  proof  that  this  world  is  not  a 
place  of  happiness,  no  earthly  prosperity  the  reward  of  vir- 
tue ?  Shall  we,  after  reading  this  chapter,  complain  of  our 
petty  trials  ?  Shall  we  not  rather  be  thankful  that  our  af- 
fliction is  so  light  V 

"  Next  day  Mr.  Simpson  walked  out  in  search  of  some 
employment,  by  which  we  might  be  supported.  He  got  a 
recommendation  to  Mr.  Thomas,  an  opulent  farmer  and  fac- 
tor, who  had  large  concerns,  and  wanted  a  skillful  person  to 
assist  him  in  keeping  his  accounts.  This  we  thought  a  fortu- 
nate circumstance,  for  we  found  that  the  salary  would  serve 
to  procure  us  at  least  all  the  ncees-aries  of  life.  The  farm- 
er was  so  pleased  with  Mr.  Simpson's  quickness,  regular- 
ity, and  good  sense,  that  he  offered  us,  of  his  own  accord, 
a  neat  little  cottage  of  his  own,  which  then  happened  to  be 
vacant,  and  told  us  we  should  live  rent  free,  and  promised 
to  be  a  friend  to  us."  "  All  does  seem  for  the  best  now, 
indeed,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Betty.  "  We  shall  see,"  said 
Mrs.  Simpson,  and  thus  went  on  : 

"  I  now  became  very  easy  and  very  happy  ;  and  was 
cheerfully  employed  in  putting  our  few  things  in  order,  and 
making  every  thing  look  "to  the  best  advantage.  My  hus- 
band, who  wrote  all  day  for  his  employer,  in  the  evening 
assisted    me  in   doing  up  our   little   garden.     This  was  a 


396  'tis   all   for   the   best. 

source  of  much  pleasure  to  us ;  we  both  loved  a  garden,  and 
we  were  not  only  contented  but  cheerful.  Our  employer 
had  been  absent  some  weeks  on  his  annual  journey.  He 
came  home  on  a  Saturday  night,  and  the  next  morning  sent 
for  Mr.  Simpson  to  come  and  settle  his  accounts,  which 
were  got  behind-hand  by  his  long  absence.  We  were  just 
going  to  church,  and  Mr.  Simpson  sent  back  word  that  he 
would  call  and  speak  to  him  on  his  way  home.  A  second 
message  followed,  ordering  him  to  come  to  the  farmer's  di- 
rectly ;  he  agreed  that  he  would  walk  round  that  way,  and 
that  my  husband  should  call  and  excuse  his  attendance. 

"The  farmer,  more  ignorant  and  worse  educated  than  his 
plowman,  with  all  that  pride  and  haughtiness  which  the 
possession  of  wealth,  without  knowledge  or  religion  is  apt 
to  give,  rudely  asked  my  husband  what  he  meant  by  send- 
ing him  word  that  he  would  not  come  to  him  till  the  next 
day  ;  and  insisted  that  he  should  stay  and  settle  the  accounts 
then.  '  Sir,'  said  my  husband,  in  a  very  respectful  manner, 
'  I  am  on  my  road  to  church,  and  I  am  afraid  shall  be  too 
late.'  '  Are  you  so  V  said  the  farmer.  '  Do  you  know 
who  sent  for  you  ?  You  may,  however,  go  to  church,  if 
you  will,  so  you  make  haste  back ;  and,  d'ye  hear,  you  may 
leave  your  accounts  with  me,  as  I  conclude  you  have  brought 
them  with  you ;  I  will  look  them  over  by  the  time  you  re- 
turn, and  then  you  and  I  can  do  all  I  want  to  have  done  to- 
day in  about  a  couple  of  hours,  and  I  will  give  you  hoin<; 
some  letters  to  copy  for  me  in  the  evening.'  'Sir,' 
answered  my  husband,  '  I  dare  not  obey  you  ;  it  is  Sunday.' 
'  And  so  you  refuse  to  settle  my  accounts  only  because  it 
is  Sunday.'  '  Sir,'  replied  Mr.  Simpson,  '  if  you  would 
give  me  a  handful  of  silver  and  gold  I  dare  not  break  the 
commandment  of  my  God.'  '  Well,'  said  the  farmer,  '  but 
this  is  not  breaking  the  commandment ;  I  don't  order  you 
to  drive  my  cattle,  or  to  work  in  my  garden,  or  to  do  any 


'tis   all   for   the   best.  897 

thing  which  you  might  fancy  would  be  a  bad  example.' 
'Sir,'  replied  my  husband,  'the  example  indeed  goes  a 
great  way,  but  it  is  not  the  first  object.  The  deed  is  wrong 
in  itself.'  '  Well,  but  I  shall  not  keep  you  from  church  ; 
and  when  you  have  been  there,  there  is  no  harm  in  doing  a 
little  busiuess,  or  taking  a  little  pleasure  the  rest  of  the  day.' 
'  Sir,'  answered  my  husband,  '  the  commandment  does  not 
say,  thou  shalt  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  morning,  but  the 
Sabbath  day."1  '  Get  out  of  my  house,  you  puritanical 
rascal,  and  out  of  my  cottage  too,'  said  the  farmer ;  '  for  if 
you  refuse  to  do  my  work,  I  am  not  bound  to  keep  my  en- 
gagement with  you  ;  as  you  will  not  obey  me  as  a  master, 
I  shall  not  pay  you  as  a  servant.'  '  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Simp- 
son, 'I  would  gladly  obey  you,  but  I  have  a  Master  in 
heaven  whom  I  dare  not  disobey.'  'Then  let  him  find 
employment  for  you,'  said  the  enraged  farmer ;  '  for  I  fancy 
you  will  get  but  poor  employment  on  earth  with  these  scru- 
pulous notions,  and  so  send  home  my  papers,  directly,  and 
pack  off  out  of  the  parish.'  'Out  of  your  cottage,'  said 
my  husband,  '  I  certainly  will ;  but  as  to  the  parish,  I 
hope  I  may  remain  in  that, if  I  can  find  employment.'  'I 
will  make  it  too  hot  to  hold  you,'  replied  the  farmer, '  so  you 
had  better  troop  off  bag  and  baggage  :  for  I  am  overseer, 
and  as  you  are  sickly,  it  is  my  duty  not  to  let  any  vagabonds 
stay  in  the  parish  who  are  likely  to  become  chargeable.' 

"By  the  time  my  husband  returned  home,  for  he  found 
it  too  late  to  go  to  church,  I  had  got  our  Utile  dinner  ready  ; 
it  was  a  better  one  than  we  had  for  a  long  while  been  ac- 
customed to  see,  and  I  was  unusually  cheerful  at  this  im- 
provement in  our  circumstances.  1  saw  his  eyes  full  of 
tears,  and  oh!  with  what  pain  did  he  bring  himself  to  tell 
me  that  it  was  the  last  dinner  we  must  ever  eat  in  this  house. 
I  took  his  hand  with  a  smile,  and  Only  said,  '  the  Lord  gave 
and  the   Lord  taketh   away,  blessed-  be   the   name  of  the 


398  'tis    all   for  the   best. 

Lord.'  'Notwithstanding  this  sudden  stroke  of  injustice,' 
said  my  husband,  '  this  is  still  a^happy  country.  Our  em- 
ployer, it  is  true,  may  turn  <is  out  at  a  moment's  notice,  be 
cause  it  is  his  own,  but  he  has  uo  further  power  over  us ; 
he  can  not  confine  or  punish  us.  His  riches,  it  is  true,  give 
him  power  to  insult,  but  not  to  oppress  us.  The  same  laws 
to  which  the  affluent  resort,  protect  us  also.  And  as  to  our 
being  driven  out  from  a  cottage,  how  many  persons  of  the 
highest  rank  have  lately  been  driven  out  from  their  palaces 
and  castles ;  persons  too,  born  in  a  station  which  he  never 
enjoyed,  and  used  to  all  the  indulgences  of  that  rank  and 
wealth  we  never  knew,  are  at  this  moment  wandering  over 
the  face  of  the  earth,  without  a  house  or  without  bread; 
exiles  and  beggars ;  while  we,  blessed  be  God,  are  in  our 
own  native  land ;  we  have  still  our  liberty,  our  limbs,  the 
protection  of  just  and  equal  laws,  our  churches,  our  Bibles, 
and  our  Sabbaths.' 

"  This  happy  state  of  my  husband's  mind  hushed  my 
sorrows,  and  I  never  once  murmured ;  nay,  I  sat  down  to 
dinner  with  a  degree  of  cheerfulness,  endeavoring  to  cast 
all  our  care  on  '  Him  that  careth  for  us.'  We  had  begged 
to  stay  till  the  next  morning,  as  Sunday  was  not  the  day  on 
which  we  liked  to  remove ;  but  we  were  ordered  not  to 
sleep  another  night  in  that  house ;  so  as  we  had  little  to 
carry,  we  marched  off  in  the  evening  to  the  poor  lodging 
we  had  before  occupied.  The  thought  that  my  husband 
had  cheerfully  renounced  his  little  all  for  conscience  s.ike, 
gave  an  unspeakable  serenity  to  my  mind ;  and  I  fit  thank- 
ful that  though  cast  down  we  were  not  forsaken  :  nay  I  felt 
a  lively  gratitude  to  God,  that  while  I  doubted  not  he  would 
accept  this  little  sacrifice,  as  it  was  heartily  made  far  his 
sake,  he  had  graciously  forborne  to  call  us  to  greater  trials." 

"And  so  you  were  turned  adrift  once  more?  Well, 
ma'am,  saving  your  presence,  I  hope  you  won't  be  such  a 


'tis   all   foe  the   best.  2'")9 

fool  as  to  say  all  was  for  the  best  now."  "  Yes,  Betty  :  He 
who  does  all  things  well,  now  made  his  kind  Providence 
more  manifest  than  ever.  That  very  night,  while  we  were 
sweetly  sleeping  in  our  poor  lodging,  the  pretty  cottage,  out  of 
which  we  were  so  unkindly  driven,  was  burned  to  the  ground 
by  a  flash  of  lightning  which  caught  the  thatch,  and  so  com- 
pletely consumed  the  whole  little  building  that  had  it  not 
been  for  "the  merciful  Providence  who  thus  overruled  the 
cruelty  of  the  farmer  for  the  preservation  of  our  lives,  we 
must  have  been  burned  to  ashes  with  the  house.  '  It  was 
the  Lord's  doing,  and  it  was  marvelous  in  our  eyes.'  '  O 
that  men  would  therefore  praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness, 
and  for  all  the  wonders  that  he  doeth  for  the  children  of 
men !' 

"  I  will  Hot  tell  you  all  the  trials  and  afflictions  which 
befell  us  afterward.  I  would  also  spare  my  heart  the  sad 
story  of  my  husband's  death."  "  Well,  that  was  another 
blessing  too,  I  suppose,"  said  Betty.  "  Oh,  it  wTas  the  se- 
verest trial  ever  sent  me  !"  replied  Mrs.  Simpson,  a  few  tears 
quietly  stealing  down  her  face.  "I  almost  sunk  under  it. 
Nothing  but  the  abundant  grace  of  God  could  have  carried 
me  through  such  a  visitation  ;  and  yet  I  now  feel  it  to  be 
the  greatest  mercy  I  ever  experienced  ;  ho  was  my  idol  ; 
no  trouble  ever  came  near  pay  heart  while  he  was  with  me. 
I  got  more  credit  than  I  deserved  for  my  patience  under 
trials,  which  were  easily  borne  while  he  who  shared  and 
lightened  them  was  spared  to  me.  I  had  indeed  prayed  and 
struggled  to  be  weane  I  from  this  world,  but  still  my  affec- 
ti.'ti  for  him  lied  me  do.WD  to  the  earth  with  a  strong  cord  : 
an  1  though  I  <lid  earnestly  try  to  keep  my  eyes  fixed  on  the 
eternal  world,  yel  I  viewed  it  with  too  feeble  a  faith;  I 
viewed  it  al  too  gr<  a  listance:  I  found  it  difficult  to  re- 
alize it — I  had  deceived  myself.  I  had  faneie  1  thai  I  bore 
my  troubles  so  well  from  the  pure  love  of  God,  but  I  have 


400  'tis   all   for   the   best. 

since  found  that  my  love  for  my  husband  had  too  great  a 
share  in  reconciling  me  to  every  difficulty  which  I  under- 
went for  him.  I  lost  him ;  the  charm  was  broken,  the  cord 
which  tied  me  down  to  earth  was  cut,  this  world  had  noth- 
ing left  to  engage  me.  Heaven  had  now  no  rival  in  my 
heart.  Though  my  love  of  God  had  always  been  sincere, 
yet  I  found  there  wanted  this  blow  to  make  it  perfect.  But 
though  all  that  had  made  life  pleasant  to  me  was  gone,  I 
did  not  sink  as  those  who  have  no  hope.  I  prayed  that  I 
might  still,  in  this  trying  conflict,  be  enabled  to  adorn  the 
doctrine  of  God  my  Saviour. 

"  After  many  more  hardships,  I  was  at  length  so  happy 
as  to  get  an  asylum  in  this  alms-house.  Here  my  cares  are 
at  an  end,  but  not  my  duties."  "  Now  you  are  wrong 
again,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Betty  ;  "your  duty  is  now  to  take 
care  of  yourself:  for  I  am  sure  you  have  nothing  to  spare." 
"  There  you  are  mistaken  again,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson.  "  Peo- 
ple are  so  apt  to  fancy  that  money  is  all  in  all,  that  all  the 
other  gifts  of  Providence  are  overlooked  as  things  of  no 
value.  I  have  here  a  great  deal  of  leisure  ;  a  good  part  of 
this  I  devote  to  the  wants  of  those  who  are  more  distressed 
than  myself.  I  work  a  little  for  the  old,  and  I  instruct  the 
young.  My  eyes  are  good :  this  enables  me  to  read  the 
Bible  either  to  those  whose  sight  is  decayed,  or  who  were 
never  taught  to  read.  I  have  tolerable  health  ;  so  that  I 
am  able  occasionally  to  sit  up  with  the  sick  ;  in  the  inter- 
vals of  nursing  I  can  pray  with  them.  In  my  younger 
days  I  thought  it  not  much  to  sit  up  late  for  my  pleasure ; 
shall  I  now  think  much  of  sitting  up  now  and  then  to 
w.it.'h  by  a  dying  bed  ?  My  Saviour  waked  and  watched 
for  me  in  the  gar  leii  and  on  the  mount ;  and  shall  I  do  noth- 
ing fir  his  suffering  members?  It  is  only  by  keeping  his 
sufferings  in  view  that  we  can  truly  practice  charity  to  oth- 
ers, or  exercise  self-denial  to  ourselves." 


'tis   all   for  the   best.  401 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Betty,  "  I  think  if  I  had  lived  in  such 
genteel  life  as  you  have  done,  I  could  never  be  reconciled  to 
an  alms-house ;  and  I  am  afraid  I  should  never  forgive  any 
of  those  who  were  the  cause  of  sending  me  there,  particu- 
larly that  farmer  Thomas  who  turned  you  out  of  doors." 

"  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  "  I  not  only  forgive  him 
heartily,  hut  I  remember  him  in  my  prayers,  as  one  of  those 
instruments  with  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  work  for  my 
good.  Oh  !  never  put  off  forgiveness  to  a  dying  bed ! 
When  people  come  to  die,  we  often  see  how  the  conscience 
is  troubled  with  sins,  of  which  before  they  hardly  felt  the 
existence.  How  ready  are  they  to  make  restitution  of  ill- 
gotten  gain  ;  and  this  perhaps  for  two  reasons ;  from  a 
feeling  conviction  that  it  can  be  of  no  use  to  them  where 
they  -are  going,  as  well  as  from  a  near  view  of  their  own 
responsibility.  We  also  hear  from  the  most  hardened,  of 
death-bed  forgiveness  of  enemies.  Even  malefactors  at 
Tyburn  forgive.  But  why  must  we  wait  for  a  dying  bed 
to  do  what  ouo-ht  to  be  done  now  ?  Believe  me,  that  scene 
will  be  so  full  of  terror  and  amazement  to  the  soul,  that  we 
had  not  need  load  it  with  unnecessary  business." 

Just  as  Mrs.  Simpson  was  saying  these  words,  a  letter 
was  brought  her  from  the  minister  of  the  parish  where  the 
farmer  lived,  by  whom  Mrs.  Simpson  had  been  turned  out 
of  the  cottage.     The  letter  was  as  follows  : 

"  Madam — I  write  to  tell  you  that  your  old  oppressor, 
Mr.  Thomas,  is  dead.  I  attended  him  in  his  last  moments. 
O,  may  my  latter  end  never  be  like  his  !  I  shall  not  soon 
forget  his  despair  at  the  approach  of  death.  His  riches, 
which  had  been  his  sole  joy,  now  doubled  his  sorrows  ;  for 
he  was  going  where  they  could  be  of  no  use  to  him  ;  and 
he  found  too  late  that  lie  had  laid  up  no  treasure  in 
heaven.    He  felt  great  concern  at  his  past  life,  but  for  noth- 


402  'tis   all   for  the   best. 

ing  more  than  his  unkindne'ss  to  Mr.  Simpson.  He  charged 
me  to  find  you  out,  and  let  you  know  that  by  his  will  he 
bequeathed  you  five  hundred  pounds  as  some  compensation. 
He  died  in  great  agonies,  declaring  with  his  last  breath, 
that  if  he  could  live  his  life  over  again,  he  would  serve 
God,  and  strictly  observe  the  Sabbath. 

"  Yours,  etc. 

"  J.  Johnson." 

Mrs.  Betty,  who  had  listened  attentively  to  the  letter, 
jumped  up,  clapped  her  hands,  and  cried  out,  "  Now  all  is 
for  the  best,  and  I  shall  see  you  a  lady  once  more."  "  I 
am,  indeed,  thankful  for  this  money,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson, 
"  and  am  glad  that  riches  were  not  sent  me  till  I  had 
learned,  as  I  humbly  hope,  to  make  a  right  use  of  them. 
But  come,  let  us  go  in,  for  I  am  very  cold,  and  find  I  have 
sat  too  long  in  the  night  air." 

Betty  was  now  ready  enough  to  acknowledge  the  hand 
of  Providence  in  this  prosperous  event,  though  she  was 
blind  to  it  when  the  dispensation  was  more  dark.  Next 
morning  she  went  early  to  visit  Mrs.  Simpson,  but  not  see- 
ing her  below,  she  went  up  stairs,  where,  to  her  great  sor- 
row, she  found  her  confined  to  her  bed  by  a  fever,  caught 
the  night  before,  by  sitting  so  late  on  the  bench,  reading 
the  letter  and  talking  it  over.  Betty  was  now  more  ready 
to  cry  out  against  Providence  than  ever.  "  What !  to  catch 
a  fever  while  you  were  reading  that  very  letter  which  told 
you  about  your  good  fortune  ;  which  would  have  enabled 
you  to  live  like  a  lady  as  you  are.  I  never  will  believe  this 
is  for  the  best ;  to  be  deprived  of  life  just  as  you  were  be- 
ginning to  enjoy  it !" 

"Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  "we  must  learn  not  to  rate 
health  nor  life  itself  too  highly.  There  is  little  in  life,  for 
its  own  sake,  to  be  so  fond  of.     As  a  good  archbishop  used 


'tis   all   fob   the   best.  403 

to  say,  "tis  but  the  same  thing   over  again,  or  probably 
worse :  so  many  more  nights  and  days,  summers  and  win- 
ters, a  repetition  of  the  same  pleasures,  but  with  less  relish 
for  them ;  a  return  of  the  same  or  greater  pains,  but  with 
less  strength,  and  perhaps  less  patience   to  bear  them.' ' 
"  Well,"  replied  Betty,  "  I  did  think  that  Providence  was 
at  last  giving  you  your  reward."     "  Reward !"  cried  Mrs. 
Simpson.     "0,  no!  my  merciful  Father  will  not  put  me 
off  with  so  poor  a  portion  as  wealth ;  I  feel  I  shall  die." 
"  It  is  very  hard,  indeed,"  said  Betty,  "  so  good  as  you  are, 
to  be  taken  off  just  as  your  prosperity  was  beginning." 
"  You  think  I  am  good  just  now,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  "  be- 
cause I  am  prosperous.     Success  is  no  sure  mark  of  God's 
favor;    at  this  rate,  you,   who  judge  by  outward  things, 
would  have  thought  Herod  a  better  man  than  John  the 
Baptist ;  and  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  you,  on  your 
principles,  that  the  sufferer  is  the  sinner,  would  have  be- 
lieved Pontius  Pilate  higher  in  God's  favor  than  the  Saviour 
whom  he  condemned  to  die,  for  your  sins  and  mine." 

In  a  few  days  Mrs.  Betty  found  that  her  new  friend  was 
dying,  and  though  she  was  struck  at  her  resignation,  she 
could  not  forbear  murmuring  that  so  good  a  woman  should 
be  taken  away  at  the  very  instant  which  she  came  into 
possession  of  so  much  money.  "  Betty,  said  Mrs.  Simpson 
in  a  feeble  voice,  "  I  believe  you  love  me  dearly,  you  would 
do  any  thing  to  cure  me  ;  yet  you  do  not  love  me  so  well 
as  God  loves  me,  though  you  would  raise  me  up,  and  He 
is  putting  a  period  to  my  life.  He  has  never  sent  me  a 
single  stroke  which  was  not  absolutely  necessary  for  me. 
You,  if  you  could  restore  me,  might  be  laying  me  open  to 
some  temptation  from  which  God,  by  removing,  will  deliver 
me.  Your  kindness  in  making  this  world  so  smooth  for 
me,  I  might  forever  have  deplored  in  a  world  of  misery. 
God's  grace  in  afflicting  me,  will  hereafter  be  the  subject  of 


404  'TI8    all    for    the    best. 

my  praises  in  a  world  of  blessedness.  Betty,"  added  the 
dying  woman,  "do  you  really  think  that  I  am  going  to  a 
place  of  rest  and  joy  eternal  ?"  "  To  be  sure  I  do,"  said 
Betty.  "  Do  you  firmly  believe  that  I  am  going  to  the 
assembly  of  the  first-born  ;  to  the  spirits  of  just  men  made 
perfect,  to  God  the  judge  of  all ;  and  to  Jesus  the  Mediator 
of  the  new  Covenant  ?"  "  I  am  sure  you  are,"  said  Betty. 
"And  yet,"  resumed  she,  "you  would  detain  me  from  all 
this  happiness ;  and  you  think  my  merciful  Father  is  using 
me  unkindly  by  removing  me  from  a  world  of  sin,  and  sor- 
row, and  temptation,  to  such  joys  as  have  not  entered  into 
the  heart  of  man  to  conceive ;  while  it  would  have  better 
suited  your  notions  of  reward  to  defer  my  entrance  into  the 
blessedness  of  heaven,  that  I  might  have  enjoyed  a  legacy 
of  a  few  hundred  pounds  !     Believe  my  dying  words — all 

IS    FOB   THE    BEST." 

Mrs.  Simpson  expired  soon  after,  in  a  frame  of  mind  which 
convinced  her  new  friend,  that  "  God's  ways  are  not  as  our 
ways." 


A   CURE    FOR    MELANCHOLY.* 


SHOWING  THE   WAT  TO  DO  MUCH   GOOD   WITH   LITTLE  MONET. 


•»  ♦  » 


Mrs.  Jones  was  the  widow  of  a  great  merchant.  She 
was  liberal  to  the  poor,  as  far  as  giving  them  money  went ; 
but  as  she  was  too  much  taken  up  with  the  world,  she  did 
not  spare  so  much  of  her  time  and  thoughts  about  doing 
good  as  she  ought ;  so  that  her  money  was  often  ill  be- 
stowed. In  the  late  troubles,  Mr.  Jones,  who  had  lived  in 
an  expensive  manner,  failed ;  and  he  took  his  misfortunes 
so  much  to  heart,  that  he  fell  sick  and  died.  Mrs.  Jones 
retired,  on  a  very  narrow  income,  to  the  small  village  of 
Weston,  where  she  seldom  went  out,  except  to  church. 
Though  a  pious  woman,  she  was  too  apt  to  indulge  her  sor- 
sow ;  and  though  she  did  not  neglect  to  read  and  pray,  yet 
she  gave  up  a  great  part  of  her  time  to  melancholy  thoughts, 
and  grew  quite  inactive.  She  well  knew  how  sinful  it 
would  be  for  her  to  seek  a  remedy  for  her  grief  in  worldly 
pleasures,  which  is  a  way  many  people  take  to  cure  afflic- 
tions ;  but  she  was  not  aware  how  wrong  it  was  to  weep 
away  that  time  which  might  have  been  better  spent  in  dry- 
ing the  tears  of  others. 

It  was  happy  for  her,  that  Mr.  Simpson,  the  vicar  of 
Weston,  was  a  pious  man.  One  Sunday  he  happened  to 
oreach  on  the  good  Samaritan.     It  was  a  charity  sermon, 

*  Thia  was  first  printed  under  the  title  of  The  Cottage  Cook. 


400  A     CURE    FOR     MELANCHOLY. 

;md  there  was  a  collection  at  the  door.  He  called  on  Mrs. 
Jones  after  church,  and  found  her  in  tears.  She  told  him 
she  had  been  much  moved  by  his  discourse,  and  she  wept 
because  she  had  so  little  to  give  to  the  plate,  for  though  she 
felt  very  keenly  for  the  poor  in  these  dear  times,  yet  she 
could  not  assist  them.  "  Indeed,  sir,"  added  she,  "  I  never 
so  much  regretted  the  loss  of  my  fortune  as  this  afternoon, 
when  you  bade  us  go  and  do  likewise."  "  You  do  not," 
replied  Mr.  Simpson,  "enter  into  the  spirit  of  our  Saviour's 
parable,  if  you  think  you  can  not  go  and  do  likewise  with- 
out being  rich.  In  the  case  of  the  Samaritan,  you  may  ob- 
serve, that  charity  was  bestowed  more  by  kindness,  and  cart1, 
and  medicine,  than  by  money.  You,  madam,  were  as  much 
concerned  in  the  duties  inculcated  in  my  sermon  as  Sir 
John  with  his  great  estate ;  and,  to  speak  plainly,  I  have 
been  sometimes  surprised  that  you  should  not  put  yourself 
in  the  way  of  being  more  useful." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  I  am  grown  shy  of  the  poor 
since  I  have  nothing  to  give  them."  "  Nothing  \  madam  ?" 
replied  the  clergyman  ;  "  Do  you  call  your  time,  your 
talents,  your  kind  offices,  nothing  ?  Doing  good  does  not 
so  much  depend  on  the  riches  as  on  the  heart  and  the  will. 
The  servant  who  improved  his  two  talents  was  equally 
commended  by  his  Lord  with  him  who  had  ten ;  and  it 
was  not  poverty,  but  selfish  indolence,  which  drew  down  so 
severe  a  condemnation  on  him  who  had  only  one.  It  is  by 
our  conformity  to  Christ,  that  we  must  prove  ourselves 
Christians.  You,  madam,  are  not  called  upon  to  work 
miracles,  nor  to  preach  the  gospel,  yet  you  may  in  your 
measure  and  degree,  resemble  your  Saviour  by  going  about 
and  doing  good.  A  plain  Christian,  who  has  sense  and 
leisure,  by  his  pious  exertions  and  prudent  zeal,  may,  in  a 
subordinate  way,  be  helping  on  the  cause  of  religion,  as 
well  as  of  charity,  and  greatly  promote,  by  his  exertions 


A     CURE     FOK     MELANCHOLY.  407 

and  example,  the  labors  of  the  parish  minister.  The  gen- 
erality, it  is  true^  have  but  an  under  part  to  act ;  but  to  all 
God  assigns  some  part,  and  he  will  require  of  all  whose  lot 
is  not  very  laborious,  that  they  not  only  work  out  their  own 
salvation,  but  that  they  promote  the  cause  of  religion,  and 
the  comfort  and  salvation  of  others. 

"  To  those  who  would  undervalue  works  of  mercy  as 
evidences  of  piety,  I  would  suggest  a  serious  attention  to 
the  solemn  appeal  which  the  Saviour  of  the  world  makes, 
in  that  awful  representation  of  the  day  of  judgment,  con- 
tained in  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of  Matthew,  both  to  those 
who  have  neglected,  and  to  those  who  have  performed  such 
works ;  performed  them,  I  mean,  on  right  principles.  With 
what  a  gracious  condescension  does  he  promise  to  accept 
the  smallest  kindness  done  to  his  suffering  members  for  his 
sake.  You,  madam,  I  will  venture  to  say,  might  do  more 
good  than  the  richest  man  in  the  parish  could  do  by  merely 
giving  his  money.  Instead  of  sitting  here,  brooding  over 
your  misfortunes,  which  are  past  remedy,  bestir  yourself  to 
find  out  ways  of  doing  much  good  with  little  money  ;  or 
even  without  any  money  at  all.  You  have  lately  studied 
economy  for  yourself ;  instruct  your  poor  neighbors  in  that 
important  art.  They  want  it  almost  as  much  as  they  want 
money.  You  have  influence  with  the  few  rich  persons  in 
the  parish  ;  exert  that  influence.  Betty,  my  house-keeper, 
shall  assist  you  in  any  thing  in  which  she  can  be  useful. 
Try  this  for  one  year,  and  if  you  then  tell  me  that  you 
should  have  better  shown  your  love  to  God  and  man,  and 
been  a  happier  woman,  had  you  continued  gloomy  and  in- 
active, I  shall  be  much,  surprised,  and  shall  consent  to  your 
resuming  your  present  way  of  life." 

The  sermon  and  this  discourse  together  made  so  deep  an 
impression  on  Mrs.  Jones,  that  she  formed  a  new  plan  of 
life,  and  set  about  it  at  once,  as  every  body  does  who  is  in 


108  A     CURE     FOR     MELANCHOLY. 

earnest.  Her  chief  aim  was  the  happiness  of  her  poor 
neighbors  in  the  next  world  ;  but  she  was  also  very  desirous 
to  promote  their  present  comfort ;  and  indeed  the  kindness 
she  showed  to  their  bodily  wants  gave  her  such  an  access 
to  their  houses  and  hearts,  as  made  them  better  disposed  tc 
receive  religious  counsel  and  instruction.  Mrs.  Jones  was 
much  respected  by  all  the  rich  persons  in  Weston,  who  had 
known  her  in  her  prosperity.  Sir  John  was  thoughtless, 
lavish,  and  indolent.  The  squire  was  over  frugal,  but 
active,  sober,  and  not  ill-natured.  Sir  John  loved  pleasure, 
the  squire  loved  money.  Sir  John  was  one  of  those  popular 
sort  of  people  who  get  much  praise,  and  yet  do  little  good  ; 
who  subscribe  with  equal  readiness  to  a  cricket  match  or  a 
chanty  school ;  who  take  it  for  granted  that  the  poor  aro 
to  be  indulged  with  bell-ringing  and  bonfires,  and  to  be 
made  drunk  at  Christmas ;  this  Sir  John  called  being  kind 
to  them :  but  he  thouo-ht  it  was  follv  to  teach  them,  and 
madness  to  think  of  reforming  them.  He  was,  however, 
always  ready  to  give  his  guinea ;  but  I  question  whether 
he  would  have  given  up  his  hunting  and  his  gaming  to 
have  cured  every  grievance  in  the  land.  He  had  that  sort 
of  constitutional  good  nature  which,  if  he  had  lived  much 
within  sight  of  misery,  would  have  led  him  to  be  liberal; 
but  he  had  that  selfish  love  of  ease,  which  prompted  him  to 
give  to  undeserving  objects,  rather  than  be  at  the  pains  to 
search  out  the  deserving.  He  neither  discriminated  be- 
tween the  degrees  of  distress,  nor  the  characters  of  the  dis- 
tressed. His  idea  of  charity  was,  that  a  rich  man  should 
occasionally  give  a  little  of  his  superfluous  wealth  to  the 
first  object  that  occurred  ;  but  he  had  no  conception  that  it 
was  his  duty  so  to  husband  his  wealth  and  limit  his  ex- 
penses, as  to  supply  a  regular  fund  for  established  charity. 
And  the  utmost  stretch  of  his  benevolence  never  led  him  to 
suspect  that  he  was  called  to  abridge  himself  in  the  most 


A     CURE     FOR     MELANCHOLY.  409 

idle  article  of- indulgence,  for  a  purpose  foreign  to  his  own 
personal  enjoymenr.  On  the  other  hand,  the  squire  would 
assist  Mrs.  Jones  in  any  of  her  plans  if  it  cost  him  nothing  ; 
so  she  showed  her  good  sense  by  never  asking  Sir  John  for 
advice,  or  the  squire  for  subscriptions,  and  by  this  prudence 
gained  the  full  support  of  both. 

Mrs.  Jones  resolved  to  spend  two  or  three  days  in  a  week 
in  getting  acquainted  with  the  state  of  the  parish,  aud  she 
took  care  never  to  walk  out  without  a  few  little  good  books 
in  her  pocket  to  give  away.  This,  though  a  cheap,  is  a 
most  important  act  of  charity ;  it  has  its  various  uses ;  it 
furnishes  the  poor  with  religious  knowledge,  which  they 
have  so  few  ways  of  obtaining;  it  counteracts  the  wicked 
designs  of  those  who  have  taught  us  at  least  one  lesson,  by 
their  zeal  in  the  dispersion  of  wicked  books — I  mean  the 
lesson  of  vigilance  and  activity ;  and  it  is  the  best  introduc- 
tion for  any  useful  conversation  which  the  giver  of  the  book 
may  wish  to  introduce. 

She  found  that  among  the  numerous  wants  she  met  with, 
no  small  share  was  owing  to  bad  management,  or  to  impo- 
sition; she  was  struck  with  the  small  size  of  the  loaves. 
Wheat  was  now  not  very  dear,  and  she  was  sure  a  good 
deal  of  blame  rested  with  the  baker.  She  sent  for  a  shilling: 
loaf  to  the  next  great  town,  where  the  mayor  often  sent  to 
the  bakers'  shops  to  see  that  the  bread  was  proper  weight. 
She  weighed  her  town  loaf  against  her  country  loaf,  and 
found  the  latter  two  pounds  lighter  than  it  ought  to  be. 
This  was  not  the  sort  of  grievance  to  carry  to  Sir  John  ;  but 
luckily  the  squire  was  also  a  magistrate,  and  it  was  quite  in 
his  way  ;  for  though  he  would  not  give,  yet  he  would  coun- 
B  I.  calculate,  contrive,  reprimand,  and  punish.  He  told  her 
he  could  remedy  the  evil  if  some  one  would  lodge  an  in- 
formation against  her  baker;  but  that  there  was  no  act  of 
justice  which  he  found  it  so  difficult  to  accomplish. 

18 


410  A     CURE     FOR    MELANCHOLY. 


THE    INFORMER. 

She  dropped  in  on  the  blacksmith.  He  was  at  dinner. 
She  inquired  if  his  bread  was  good.  "  Ay,  good  enough,  mis- 
tress ;  for  you  see  it  is  as  white  as  your  cap,  if  we  had  but 
more  of  it.  Here's  a  sixpenny  loaf;  you  might  take  it  for 
a  penny  roll !"  He  then  heartily  cursed  Crib  the  baker, 
and  said  he  ought  to  be  hanged.  Mrs.  Jones  now  told  him 
what  she  had  done  ;  how  she  had  detected  the  fraud,  and 
assured  him  the  evil  should  be  redressed  on  the  morrow, 
provided  he  would  appear  and  inform.  "  I  inform,"  said 
he,  with  a  shocking  oath,  "  bans?  an  informer  !  I  scorn  the 
office."  "  You  are  nice  in  the  wrong  place,"  replied  Mrs. 
Jones  ;  "  for  you  don't  scorn  to  abuse  the  baker,  nor  to  be 
in  a  passion,  nor  to  swear,  though  you  scorn  to  redress 
a  public  injury,  and  to  increase  your  children's  bread.  Let 
me  tell  you  there's  nothing  in  which  you  ignorant  people 
mistake  more  than  in  your  notions  about  informers.  In- 
forming is  a  lawful  way  of  obtaining  redress  ;  and  though 
it  is  a  mischievous  and  a  hateful  thing  to  go  to  a  justice 
about  every  trifling  matter,  yet  laying  an  information  on  im- 
portant occasions,  without  malice,  or  bitterness  of  any  kind, 
is  what  no  honest  mau  ought  to  be  ashamed  of.  The  shame 
is  to  commit  the  offense,  not  to  inform  against  it.  I,  for 
my  part,  should  perhaps  do  right,  if  I  not  only  infoiined 
against  Crib,  for  making  light  bread,  but  against  you,  for 
swearing  at  him." 

"Well,  but  madam,"  said  the  smith,  a  little  softened, 
"  don't  you  think  it  a  sin  and  a  shame  to  turn  informer  ?" 
"  So  far  from  it,  that  when  a  man's  motives  are  good,"  said 
Mrs.  Jones,  "an  1  in  clear  cases  as  the  present,  I  think  it  a 
duty  and  a  virtue.  If  it  is  right  that  there  should  be  laws, 
it  must  be  right  that  they  should  be  put  in  execution  ;  but 
how  can  this  be,  if  people  will  not  inform  the  magistrates 


A     CURE     FOR     MELANCHOLY.  411 

when  they  seethe  laws  broken  ?  I  hope  I  shall  always  be 
afraid  to  be  an  offender  against  the  laws,  but  not  to  be  an 
informer  in  support  of  them.  An  informer  by  trade  is 
commonly  a  knave.  A  rash,  malicious,  or  passionate  in- 
former is  a  firebrand  ;  but  honest  and  prudent  informers 
are  almost  as  useful  members  of  society  as  the  judges  of 
the  land.  If  you  continue  in  your  present  mind  on  this 
subject,  do  not  you  think  that  you  will  be  answerable  for 
the  crimes  you  might  have  prevented  by  informing,  and 
thus  become  a  sort  of  accomplice  of  the  villains  who  com- 
mit them." 

"  "Well,  madam,"  said  the  smith,  "  I  now  see  plainly 
enough  that  there  is  no  shame  in  turning  informer  when 
my  cause  is  good."  "  And  your  motive  right ;  always 
mind  that,"  said  Mrs.  Jones.  Next  day  the  smith  attended, 
Crib  was  fined  in  the  usual  penalty,  his  light  bread  was 
taken  from  him  and  given  to  the  poor.  The  justices  re- 
solved henceforward  to  inspect  the  bakers  in  their  distiict ; 
and  all  of  them,  except  Crib,  and  such  as  Crib,  were  glad 
of  it ;  for  honesty  never  dreads  a  trial.  Thus  had  Mrs.  Jones 
the  comfort  of  seeing  how  useful  people  may  be  without 
expense  ;  for  if  she  could  have  given  the  poor  fifty  pounds, 
she  would  not  have  done  them  so  great,  or  so  lasting  a 
benefit,  as  she  did  them  in  seeing  their  loaves  restored  to 
their  lawful  weight  :  and  the  true  light  in  which  she  had 
put  the  business  of  informing  was  of  no  small  use,  in  giv- 
ing the  neighborhood  right  views  on  that  subject. 

There  were  two  shops  in  the  parish  ;  but  Mrs.  Sparks,  at 
the  Cross,  had  not  half  so  much  custom  as  Wills,  at  the 
Sugarloaf,  though  she  sold  her  goods  a  penny  in  a  shilling 
cheaper,  and  all  agreed  thai  they  were  much  better.  Mrs. 
Jours  asked  Mis.  Sparks  the  reason.  "Madam,"  said  the 
shopkeeper,  "Mr.  Wills  will  give  longer  trust,  l'.esides 
his  wife  keeps  shop  on  a  Sunday  morning  while  I  am  at 


412  A     CURE     FOR     MELANCHOLY. 

church.  Mrs.  Jones  now  reminded  Mr.  Simpson  to  read 
the  king's  proclamation  against  vice  and  immorality  next 
Sunday  at  church  ;  and  prevailed  on  the  squire  to  fine  any 
one  who  should  keep  open  shop  on  a  Sunday.  This  he 
readily  uudertook  :  for  while  Sir  John  thought  it  good- 
natured  to  connive  at  breaking  the  laws,  the  squire  fell  into 
the  other  extreme,  of  thinking  that  the  zealous  enforcing 
of  penal  statutes  would  stand  in  the  stead  of  all  religious 
restraints.  Mrs.  Jones  proceeded  to  put  the  people  in  mind 
that  a  shopkeeper  who  would  sell  on  a  Sunday,  would  be 
more  likely  to  cheat  them  all  the  week,  than  one  who  went 
to  church. 

She  also  labored  hard  to  convince  them  how  much  they 
would  lessen  their  distress,  if  they  would  contrive  to  deal 
with  Mrs.  Sparks  for  ready  money,  rather  than  with  Wills 
on  long  credit ;  those  who  listened  to  her  found  their  cir- 
cumstances far  more  comfortable  at  the  year's  end,  while 
the  rest,  tempted,  like  some  of  their  betters,  by  the  pleasure 
of  putting  off  the  evil  day  of  payment,  like  them,  at  last 
found  themselves  plunged  in  debt  and  distress.  She  took 
care  to  make  a  good  use  of  such  instances  in  her  conversa- 
tion with  the  poor,  and  by  perseverance,  she  at  length 
brought  them  so  much  to  her  way  of  thinking,  that  Wills 
found  it  to  be  his  interest  to  alter  his  plan,  and  sell  his 
goods  on  as  good  terms,  and  as  short  credit  as  Mrs.  Sparks 
sold  hers.  This  completed  Mrs.  Jones's  success ;  and  she 
had  the  satisfaction  of  having  put  a  stop  to  three  or  four 
great  evils  in  the  parish  of  Weston,  without  spending  a 
shilling  in  doing  it. 

Patty  Smart  and  Jenny  Rose  were  thought  to  be  the 
two  best  managers  in  the  parish.  They  both  told  Mrs. 
Jones,  that  the  poor  would  get  the  coarse  pieces  of  meat 
cheaper,  if  the  gentlefolks  did  not  buy  them  for  soups  and 
gravy.     Mrs.  Jones  thought  there  was  reason  in  this :  so 


A     CURE     FOR    MELANCHOLY.  413 


■ 


away  she  went  to  Sir  John,  the  squire,  the  surgeon,  the  at- 
torney, and  the  steward,  the  only  persons  in  the  parish  who 
could  afford  to  buy  these  costly  things.  She  told  them, 
that  if  they  would  all  be  so  good  as  to  buy  only  prime 
pieces,  which  they  could  very  well  afford,  the  coarse  and 
cheap  joints  would  come  more  within  the  reach  of  the 
poor.  Most  of  the  gentry  readily  consented.  Sir  John 
cared  not  what  his  meat  cost  him,  but  told  Mrs.  Jones,  in 
his  gay  way,  that  he  would  eat  any  thing,  or  give  any 
thing,  so  that  she  would  not  tease  him  with  long  stories 
about  the  poor.  The  squire  said  he  should  prefer  vegetable 
soups,  because  they  were  cheaper,  and  the  doctor  preferred 
them  because  they  were  wholesomer.  The  steward  chose 
to  imitate  the  squire  ;  and  the  attorney  found  it  would  be 
quite  ungenteel  to  stand  out.  So  gravy  soups  became 
veiy  unfashionable  in  the  parish  of  Weston  ;  and  I  am 
sure  if  rich  people  did  but  think  a  little  on  this  subject, 
they  would  become  as  unfashionable  in  many  other  places. 
When  wheat  grew  cheaper,  Mrs.  Jones  was  earnest  with 
the  poor  women  to  bake  large  brown  loaves  at  home,  in- 
stead of  buying  small  white  ones  at  the  shop.  Mrs.  P>  stty 
had  told  her,  that  baking  at  home  would  be  one  step  to- 
ward restoring  the  good  old  management.  Only  Betty 
Smart  and  Jenny  Rose  baked  at  home  in  the  whole  parish  ; 
and  who  lived  so  well  as  they  did  ?  Yet  the  general  ob- 
jection seemed  reasonable.  They  could  not  bake  without 
yeast,  which  often  could  not  be  had,  as  no  one  brewed,  ex- 
cept the  great  folks  and  the  public  houses.  Mrs.  Jones 
found,  however,  that  Patty  and  Jenny  contrived  to  brew  as 
well  as  to  bake.  She  sent  for  these  women,  knowing  that 
from  them  she  could  gel  truth  and  reason.  "  Bow  comes 
it,"  she  said  to  them,  "that  you  two  are  the  only  two  poor 
women  in  the  parish  who  can  afford  to  brew  a  small  cask 
of  beer  ?     Your  husbands  have  no  better  wages  than  other 


414  A     CURE     FOR    MELANCHOLY. 

men."  "  True,  madam,"  said  Patty,  "  but  they  never  set 
foot  in  a  publit  house.  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  When  I 
first  married,  our  John  went  to  the  Checkers  every  night, 
an  1  I  had  my  tea  and  fresh  butter  twice  a-day  at  home. 
This  slop,  which  consumed  a  deal  of  sugar,  began  to  rake 
my  stomach  sadly,  as  I  had  neither  meat  nor  rice;  at  last 
(I  am  ashamed  to  own  it)  I  began  to  take  a  drop  of  gin  to 
quiet  the  pain,  till  in  time,  I  looked  for  my  gin  as  regularly 
as  for  my  tea.  At  last  the  gin,  the  ale-house,  and  the  tea 
began  to  make  us  both  sick  and  poor,  and  I  had  like  to 
have  died  with  my  first  child.  Parson  Simpson  then  talked 
so  finely  to  us  on  the  subject  of  improper  indulgences,  that 
we  resolved,  by  the  grace  of  God,  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf, 
and  I  promised  John,  if  he  would  give  up  the  Checkers,  I 
would  break  the  gin  bottle,  and  never  drink  tea  in  the  after- 
noon, except  on  Sundays,  when  he  was  at  home  to  drink  it 
with  me.  We  have  kept  our  word,  and  both  our  eating 
and  drinking,  our  health  and  our  consciences  are  better  for 
it.  Though  meat  is  sadly  dear,  we  can  buy  two  pounds  of 
fresh  meat  for  less  than  one  pound  of  fresh  butter,  and  it 
gives  five  tin:  -s  the  nourishment.  And  dear  as  malt  is,  I 
contrive  to  keep  a  drop  of  drink  in  the  house  for  John,  and 
John  will  make  me  drink  half  a  pint  with  him  every  even- 
ing, and  a  pint  a-day  when  I  am  a  nurse. 

PUBLIC    HOUSES. 

As  one  good  deed,  as  well  as  one  bad  one,  brings  on  an- 
other, this  conversation  set  Mrs.  Jones  on  inquiring  why  so 
many  ale-houses  were  allowed.  She  did  not  choose  to  talk 
to  Sir  John  on  this  subject,  who  would  only  have  sail,  "  let 
them  enjoy  themselves,  poor  fellows  :  if  they  get  drunk 
now  and  then,  they  work  hard."  But  those  who  have  this 
false  good-nature  forget  that  while  the  man  is  enjoying 
himself,  as  it  is  called,  his  wife  and  children  are  ragged  and 


A     CURE     FOR    MELANCHOLY.  415 

starving.  True  Christian  c;ood-nature  never  indulges  one  at 
the  cost  of  many,  but  is  kind  to  all.  The  squire  who  was 
a  friend  to  order,  took  up  the  matter.  He  consulted  Mr. 
Simpson.  "  The  Lion,"  said  he,  "  is  necessary.  It  stands 
by  the  roadside  ;  travelers  must  have  a  resting-place.  As 
to  the  Checkers  and  the  Bell,  they  do  no  good,  but  much 
harm."  Mr.  Simpson  had  before  made  many  attempts  to 
get  the  Checkers  put  down,  but,  unluckily,  it  was  Sir 
John's  own  house,  and  kept  by  his  late  butler.  Not  that 
Sir  John  valued  the  rent,  but  he  had  a  false  kindness,  which 
made  him  support  the  cause  of  an  old  servant,  though  he 
knew  he  was  a  bad  man,  and  kept  a  disorderly  house.  The 
scpiire,  however,  now  took  away  the  license  from  the  Bell. 
And  a  fray  happening  soon  after  at  the  Checkers  (which 
was  near  the  church)  in  time  of  divine  service,  Sir  John 
was  obliged  to  suffer  the  house  to  be  put  down  as  a  nui- 
sance. You  would  not  believe  how  many  poor  families  were 
able  to  brew  a  little  cask,  when  the  temptation  of  those 
ale-houses  was  taken  ouc  of  their  way.  Mrs.  Jones,  in  her 
evening  walks,  had  the  pleasure  to  see  many  an  honest  man 
drinking  his  wholesome  cup  of  beer  by  his  own  fire-side, 
his  rosy  children  playing  about  his  knees,  his  clean  cheerful 
wife  singing  her  youngest  baby  to  sleep,  rocking  the  cradle 
with  her  foot,  while,  with  her  hands  she  was  making  a 
dumpling  for  her  kind  husband's  supper.  Some  few,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  though  I  don't  chose  to  name  names,  still  pre- 
ferred getting  drunk  once  a  week  at  the  Lion,  and  drinking 
water  at  other  times.  Thus  Mrs.  Joues,  by  a  little  exertion 
and  perseverance,  added  to  the  temporal  comforts  of  a  whole 
parish,  and  diminished  its  immorality  and  extravagance  in 
the  same  proportion. 

'Idic  good  women  being  now  supplied  with  yeas!  from 
each  other's  brewings,  would  have  baked,  bul  two  diffi- 
culties still  remained.     Many  of  them  had  no  ovens ;  for 


416  A     CURE     FOE     MELANCHOLY. 

since  the  new  bad  management  Lad  crept  in,  many  cottages 
have  been  built  without  this  convenience.  Fuel  also  was 
scarce  at  Weston.  Mrs.  Jones  advised  the  building  a  large 
parish  oven.  Sir  John  subscribed  to  be  rid  of  her  impor- 
tunity, and  the  squire,  because  he  thought  every  improve- 
ment would  reduce  the  poor's  rate.  It  was  soon  accom- 
plished ;  and  to  this  oven,  at  a  certain  hour,  three  times  a 
week,  the  elder  children  carried  their  loaves  which  their 
mothers  had  made  at  home,  and  paid  a  half-penny,  or  a 
penny,  according  to  their  size,  for  the  baking. 

Mrs.  Jones  found  that  no  poor  women  in  Weston  could 
buy  a  little  milk,  as  the  farmers'  wives  did  not  care  to  rob 
their  dairies.  This  was  a  great  distress,  especially  when 
the  children  were  sick.  So  Mrs.  Jones  advised  Mrs.  Sparks, 
at  the  Cross,  to  keep  a  couple  of  cows,  and  sell  out  the 
milk  by  halfpennyworths.  She  did  so,  and  found,  that 
though  this  plan  gave  her  some  additional  trouble,  she  got 
full  as  much  by  it  as  if  she  had  made  cheese  and  butter. 
She  always  sold  rice  at  a  cheap  rate ;  so  that,  with  the  help 
of  the  milk  and  the  public  oven,  a  fine  rice-pudding  was  to 
be  had  for  a  trifle. 

CHARITY   SCHOOLS    FOR   SERVANTS. 

The  girls'  school,  in  the  parish,  was  fallen  into  neglect; 
for  though  many  would  be  subscribers,  yet  no  one  would 
look  after  it.  I  wish  this  was  the  case  at  Weston  only : 
many  schools  have  come  to  nothing,  and  many  parishes  are 
quite  destitute  of  schools,  because  too  many  gentry  neglect 
to  make  it  a  part  of  the  duty  of  their  grown-up  daughters 
to  inspect  the  instruction  of  the  poor.  It  was  not  in  Mr. 
Simpson's  way  to  see  if  girls  were  taught  to  work.  The 
best  clergyman  can  not  do  every  thing.  This  is  ladies'  busi- 
ness. Mrs.  Jones  consulted  her  counselor,  Mrs.  Betty,  and 
they  went  every  Friday  to  the  school,  where  they  invited 


A     CURE     FOR    MELANCHOLY.  417 

mothers,  as  weH  as  daughters,  to  come,  and  learn  to  cut  out 
to  the  best  advantage.  Mrs.  Jones  had  not  been  bred  to 
these  things ;  but  by  means  of  Mrs.  Cowper's  excellent  cut- 
ting-out book,  she  soon  became  mistress  of  the  whole  art. 
She  not  only  had  the  girls  taught  to  make  and  mend,  but 
to  wash  and  iron  too.  She  also  allowed  the  mother  or  el- 
dest daughter  of  every  family  to  come  once  a  week,  and 
learn  how  to  dress  one  cheap  dish.  One  Friday,  which  was 
cooking  day,  who  should  pass  but  the  squire,  with  his  gnn 
and  doffs.  He  looked  into  the  school  for  the  first  time. 
"  Well,  madam,"  said  he,  "  what  good  are  you  doing  here  ? 
What  are  your  girls  learning  and  earning  ?  Where  are  your 
manufactures?  Where  is  your  spinning  and  your  carding  ?" 
"  Sir,"  said  she,  "  this  is  a  small  parish,  and  you  know  ours 
is  not  a  manufacturing  county  ;  so  that  when  these  girls 
are  women,  they  will  be  not  much  employed  in  spinning. 
We  must,  in  the  kind  of  good  we  attempt  to  do,  consult  the 
local  genius  of  the  place  :  I  do  not  think  it  will  answer  to 
introduce  spinning,  for  instance,  in  a  country  where  it  is 
quite  new.  However,  we  teach  them  a  little  of  it,  and  still 
more  of  knitting,  that  they  may  be  able  to  get  up  a  small 
piece  of  household  linen  once  a  year,  and  provide  the  family 
with  the  stockings,  by  employing  the  odds  and  ends  of  their 
time  in  these  ways.  But  there  is  another  manufacture* 
which  I  am  carrying  on,  and  I  know  of  none  within  my  own 
reach  which  is  so  valuable."  "  What  can  that  be  ?"  said 
the  squire.  "  To  make  good  wives  for  working  men"  said 
she.  "  Is  not  mine  an  excellent  staple  commodity  ?  I  am 
teaching  these  girls  the  arts  of  industry  and  good  manage- 
ment. It  is  little  encouragement  to  an  honest  man  to  work 
hard  all  the  week,  if  his  wages  are  wasted  by  a  slattern  at 
home.  Most  of  these  girls  will  probably  become  wives  to 
the  poor,  or  servants  to  the  rich ;  to  such  the  common  arts 
of  life  are  of  great  value  :  now,  as  there  is  little  opportunity 

18* 


418  A     CURE     FOR    MELANCHOLY. 

for  learning  these  at  the  school-house,  I  intend  to  propose 
that  such  gentry  as  have  sober  servants,  shall  allow  one  of 
these  girls  to  come  and  work  in  their  families  one  day  in  a 
week,  when  the  house-keeper,  the  cook,  the  house-maid  or 
the  laundry-maid,  shall  be  required  to  instruct  them  in  their 
several  departments.  This  I  conceive  to  be  the  best  way  of 
training  good  servants.  They  would  serve  this  kind  of  reg- 
ular apprenticeship  to  various  sorts  of  labor.  Girls  who 
come  out  of  charity-schools,  where  they  have  been  employ- 
ed in  knitting,  sewing,  and  reading,  are  not  sufficiently  pre- 
pared for  hard  or  laborious  employments.  I  do  not  in 
general  approve  of  teaching  charity  children  to  write,  for  the 
same  reason.  I  confine  within  very  strict  limits  ray  plan  of 
educating  the  poor.  A  thorough  knowledge  of  religion,  and 
of  some  of  those  coarser  arts  of  life  by  which  the  community 
may  be  best  benefitted,  includes  the  whole  stock  of  instruc- 
tion, which,  unless  in  very  extraordinary  cases,  I  would  wish 
to  bestow." 

"  What  have  you  got  on  the  fire,  madam  ?"  said  the 
squire  ;  "  for  your  pot  really  smells  as  savory  as  if  Sir  John's 
French  cook  had  filled  it."  "  Sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Jones,  "  I  have 
lately  got  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Whyte  who  has  given  us  an 
account  of  her  cheap  dishes,  and  nice  cookery,  in  one  of  the 
Cheap  Repository  little  books.*  Mrs.  Betty  and  I  have 
made  all  her  dishes,  and  very  good  they  are  ;  anil  we  have 
got  several  others  of  our  own.  Every  Friday  we  come  here 
and  dress  one.  These  good  woman  see  how  it  is  done,  and 
learn  to  dress  it  at  their  own  house.  I  take  home  part  for 
my  own  dinner,  and  what  is  left  I  give  to  each  in  turn.  I 
hope  I  have  opened  their  eyes  on  a  sad  mistake  they  have 
got  into,  that  we  think  any  thing  is  good  enough  for  the 
poor.  Now,  I  do  not  think  any  thing  good  enough  for  the 
poor  which  is  not  clean,  wholesome,  and  palatable,   and 

*  See  the  Way  to  Plenty  for  a  number  of  cheap  recipes. 


A     CURE    FOR    MELANCHOLY.  419 

what  I  myself  would  not  cheerfully  eat,  if  my  circumstances 
required  it." 

"  Pray,  Mrs.  Betty,"  said  the  squire,  "  oblige  me  with  a 
basin  of  your  soup."  The  squire  found  it  so  good  after  his 
walk,  that  he  was  almost  sorry  that  he  had  promised  to  buy 
no  more  legs  of  beef,  and  declared,  that  not  one  sheep's  head 
should  ever  so  to  his  kennel  ao-aiu.  He  begged  his  cook 
might  have  the  recipe,  and  Mrs.  Jones  wrote  it  out  for  her. 
She  has  also  been  so  obliging  as  to  favor  me  with  a  copy 
of  all  her  recipes.  And  as  I  hate  all  monopoly,  and  see  no 
reason  why  such  cheap,  nourishing,  and  savory  dishes 
should  be  confined  to  the  parish  of  Weston,  I  print  them, 
that  all  other  parishes  may  have  the  same  advantage.  Not 
only  the  poor,  but  all  persons  with  small  income  may  be 
glad  of  them.' 

"  Well,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  who  came  in  soon 
after,  "  which  is  best,  to  sit  down  and  cry  over  our  misfor- 
tunes, or  to  bestir  ourselves  to  do  our  duty  to  the  world  ?" 
"  Sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Jones,  "  I  thank  you  for  the  useful  lesson 
you  have  given  me.  You  have  taught  me  that  an  excessive 
indulgence  of  sorrow  is  not  piety,  but  selfishness  ;  that  the 
best  remedy  for  our  own  afflictions  is  to  lessen  the  afflictions 
of  others,  and  thus  evidence  our  submission  to  the  will 
of  God,  who  perhaps  sent  these  very  trials  to  abate  our  own 
self-love,  and  to  stimulate  our  exertions  for  the  good  of 
others.  You  have  taught  me  that  our  time  and  talents  are 
to  be  employed  with  zeal  in  God's  service,  if  we  wish  for  his 
favor  here  or  hereafter ;  and  that  one  great  employment  of 
those  talents  which  he  requires,  is  the  promotion  of  the 
present,  and  much  more  the  future  happiness  of  all  around 
us.  You  have  taught  me  that  much  good  may  be  done 
with  little  money;  and  that  the  heart,  the  head,  and  the 
hand  are  of  some  use  as  well  as  the  purse.  I  have  also 
learned  another  lesson,  which  I  hope  not  to  forget,  that 


420  A     CURE     FOR    MELANCHOLY. 

Providence,  in  sending  these  extraordinary  seasons  of  scarcity 
and  distress,  which  we  have  lately  twice  experienced,  has 
been  pleased  to  overrule  these  trying  events  to  the  general 
good ;  for  it  has  not  only  excited  the  rich  to  an  increased  lib- 
erality, as  to  actual  contribution,  but  it  has  led  them  to  get 
more  acquainted  with  the  local  wants  of  their  poor  brethren, 
and  to  interest  themselves  in  their  comfort ;  it  has  led  to 
improved  modes  of  economy,  and  to  a  more  feeling  kind  of 
beneficence.  Above  all,  without  abating  any  thing  of  a  just 
subordination,  it  has  brought  the  affluent  to  a  nearer  knowl- 
edge of  the  persons  and  characters  of  their  indigent  neigh- 
bors ;  it  has  literally  brought  '  the  rich  and  poor  to  meet 
together;'  and  this  I  look  upon  to  be  one  of  the  essential 
advantages  attending  Sunday-schools  also,  where  they  are 
carried  on  upon  true  principles,  and  are  sanctioned  by 
the  visits  as  well  as  supported  by  the  contributions  of  the 
wealthy." 

May  all  who  read  this  account  of  Mrs.  Jones,  and  who 
are  under  the  same  circumstances,  go  and  do  likewise. 


ALLEGORIES, 


THE    PILGRIMS. 


-*-♦-*- 


Methought  I  was  once  upon  a  time  traveling  through  a 
certain  land  which  was  very  full  of  people  ;  but,  what  was 
rather  odd,  not  one  of  all  this  multitude  was  at  home  ;  they 
were  all  bound  to  a  far  distant  country.  Though  it  was 
permitted  by  the  lord  of  the  land  that  these  pilgrims  might 
associate  together  for  their  present  mutual  comfort  and 
convenience ;  and  each  was  not  only  allowed,  but  com- 
manded, to  do  the  others  all  the  services  he  could  upon 
their  journey,  yet  it'was  decreed,  that  every  individual  trav- 
eler must  enter  the  far  country  singly.  There  was  a  great 
gulf  at  the  end  of  the  journey,  which  every  one  must  pass 
alone,  and  at  his  own  risk,  and  the  friendship  of  the  whole 
united  world  could  be  of  no  use  in  shooting  that  gulf.  The 
exact  time  when  each  was  to  pass  was  not  known  to  any; 
this  the  lord  always  kept  a  close  secret  out  of  kindness,  yet 
still  they  were  as  sure  that  the  time  must  come,  and  that  at 
no  very  great  distance,  as  if  they  had  been  informed  of  the 
very  moment.  Now,  as  they  knew  they  were  always  liable 
to  be  called  away  at  an  hour's  notice,  one  would  have 
thought  they  would  have  been  chiefly  employed  in  packing 
up,  and  preparing,  and  getting  every  thing  in  order.  But 
this  was  so  far  from  being  the  case,  that  it  was  almost  the 
only  thing  which  they  did  not  think  about. 

Now,  I  only  appeal  to  you,  my  readers,  if  any  of  you  are  set- 
ting out  upon  a  little  common  journey,  if  it  is  only  to  London 


424  THE     PILGRIMS. 

or  York,  is  not  all  your  leisure  time  employed  in  settling 
your  business  at  home,  and  packing  up  every  little  neces- 
sary for  your  expedition  ?  And  does  not  the  fear  of  neg- 
lecting any  thing  you  ought  to  remember,  or  may  have 
occasion  for,  haunt  your  mind,  and  sometimes  even  intrude 
upon  you  unseasonably  ?  And  when  you  are  actually  on 
your  journey,  especially  if  you  have  never  been  to  that  place 
before,  or  are  likely  to  remain  there,  don't  you  begin  to 
think  a  little  about  the  pleasures  and  the  employment  of 
the  place,  and  to  wish  to  know  a  little  what  sort  of  a  city 
London  or  York  is  ?  Don't  you  wonder  what  is  doing  there, 
and  are  you  not  anxious  to  know  whether  you  are  properly 
qualified  for  the  business  or  the  company  you  expect  to  be 
engaged  in  ?  Do  you  never  look  at  the  map  or  consult 
Brooke's  Gazetteer  ?  And  don't  you  try  to  pick  up  from 
your  fellow-passengers  in  the  stage-coach  any  little  informa- 
tion you  can  get  ?  And  though  you  may  be  obliged,  out 
of  civility,  to  converse  with  them  on  common  subjects,  yet 
do  not  your  secret  thoughts  still  run  upon  London  or  York, 
its  business,  or  its  pleasures  ?  And  above  all,  if  you  are 
likely  to  set  out  early,  are  you  not  afraid  of  over  sleeping, 
and  does  not  that  fear  keep  you  upon  the  watch,  so  that 
you  are  commonly  up  and  ready  before  the  porter  comes  to 
summon  you  ?  Reader  !  if  this  be  your  case,  how  surprised 
will  you  be  to  hear  that  the  travelers  to  the  far  country 
have  not  half  your  prudence,  though  embarked  on  a  jour- 
ney of  infinitely  more  importance,  bound  to  a  land  where 
nothing  can  be  sent  after  them,  in  which,  when  they  are 
once  settled,  all  errors  are  irretrievable. 

I  observed  that  these  pilgrims,  instead  of  being  upon 
the  watch,  lest  they  should  be  ordered  off  unprepared ;  in- 
stead of  laying  up  any  provision,  or  even  making  memo- 
randa of  what  they  would  be  likely  to  want  at  the  end 
of  their  journey,  spent  most  of  their  time  in  crowds,  eithe» 


THE     PILGRIMS.  425 

in  the  way  of  traffic  or  diversion.  At  first,  when  I  saw 
them  so  much  engaged  in  conversing  with  each  other,  I 
thought  it  a  good  sign,  and  listened  attentively  to  their  talk, 
not  doubting  but  the  chief  turn  of  it  would  be  about  the 
climate,  or  treasures,  or  society,  they  should  probably  meet 
with  in  the  far  country.  I  supposed  they  might  be  also  dis- 
cussing about  the  best  and  safest  road  to  it,  and  that  each 
was  availing  himself  of  the  knowledge  of  his  neighbor,  on 
a  subject  of  equal  importance  to  all.  I  listened  to  every 
party,  but  in  scarcely  any  did  I  hear  one  word  about  the 
land  to  which  they  were  bound,  though  it  was  their  home, 
the  place  where  their  whole  interest,  expectation,  and  inher- 
itance lay ;  to  which  also  great  part  of  their  friends  were 
gone  before,  and  whither  they  were  sure  all  the  rest  would 
follow.  Instead  of  this,  their  whole  talk  was  about  the  busi- 
ness, or  the  pleasure,  or  the  fashion  of  the  strange  but  be- 
witching country  which  they  were  merely  passing  through, 
in  which  they  had  not  one  foot  of  land  which  they  were  sure 
of  calling  their  own  for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour.  What 
little  estate  they  had  was  personal,  and  not  real,  and  that 
was  a  mortgaged,  life-hold  tenement  of  clay,  not  properly 
their  own,  but  only  lent  to  them  on  a  short,  uncertain  lease, 
of  which  three-score  years  and  ten  was  considered  as  the 
longest  period,  and  very  few  indeed  lived  in  it  to  the  end  of 
the  term  ;  for  this  was  always  at  the  will  of  the  lord,  part 
of  whose  prerogative  it  was,  that  he  could  take  away  the 
lease  at  pleasure,  knock  down  the  stoutest  tenement  at  a 
single  blow,  and  turn  out  the  poor  shivering,  helpless  inhab- 
itant naked,  to  that  far  country  for  which  he  ha  1  made  no 
provision.  Sometimes,  in  order  to  quicken  the  pilgrim  in  his 
preparation,  the  lord  would  break  down  the  tenement  by 
slow  degrees;  sometimes  he  would  let  it  tumble  by  its  own 
natural  decay  ;  for  as  it  was  only  built  to  last  a  certain  term, 
it  would  often  grow  so  uncomfortable  by  increasing  dilapi- 


426  THE     PILGRIMS. 

dations  even  before  the  ordinary  lease  was  out,  that  the 
lodging  was  hardly  worth  keeping,  though  the  tenant  could 
seldom  be  persuaded  to  think  so,  but  finally  clung  to  it  to 
the  last.  First  the  thatch  on  the  top  of  the  tenement 
changed  color,  then  it  fell  off  and  left  the  roof  bare ;  then 
the  grinders  ceased  because  they  were  few  ;  then  the  win- 
dows became  so  darkened  that  the  owner  could  scarcely  see 
through  them ;  then  one  prop  fell  away,  then  another,  then 
the  uprights  became  bent,  and  the  whole  fabric  trembled 
and  tottered,  with  every  other  symptom  of  a  falling  house. 
But  what  was  remarkable,  the  more  uncomfortable  the  house 
became,  and  the  less  prospect  there  was  of  staying  in  it,  the 
more  preposterously  fond  did  the  tenant  grew  of  his  pre- 
carious habitation. 

On  some  occasions  the  lord  ordered  his  messengers,  of 
which  he  had  a  great  variety,  to  batter,  injure,  deface,  and 
almost  demolish  the  frail  building,  even  while  it  seemed  new 
and  strong  ;  this  was  what  the  landlord  called  giving  warn- 
ing, but  many  a  tenant  would  not  take  warning,  and  so  fond 
of  staying  where  he  was,  even  under  all  these  inconve- 
niences, that  at  last  he  was  cast  out  by  ejectment,  not  being 
prevailed  on  to  leave  the  dwelling  in  a  proper  manner, 
though  one  would  have  thought  the  fear  of  being1  turned 
out  would  have  whetted  his  diligence  in  preparing  for  a  bet- 
ter and  more  enduring  inheritance.  For  though  the  people 
were  only  tenants  at  will  in  these  crazy  tenements,  yet, 
through  the  goodness  of  the  same  lord,  they  were  assured 
that  he  never  turned  them  out  of  these  habitations  before  he 
had  on  his  part  provided  for  them  a  better,  so  that  there 
was  not  such  a  landlord  in  the  world,  and  though  their 
present  dwelling  was  but  frail,  being  only  slightly  run  up 
to  serve  the  occasion,  yet  they  might  hold  their  future  pos- 
session by  a  most  certain  tenure,  the  word  of  the  lord  him- 
self.    This  word  was  entered  in  a  covenant,  or  title-deed, 


THE     PILGRIMS.  427 

consisting  of  many  sheets,  and  because  a  great  many  good 
things  were  given  away  in  this  deed,  a  book  was  made  of 
which  every  soul  might  get  a  copy. 

This  indeed  had  not  always  been  the  case,  because,  till  a 
few  ages  back,  there  had  been  a  sort  of  monopoly  in  the 
case,  and  "the  wise  and  prudent,  "  that  is  the  cunning  and 
fraudful,  had  hid  these  things  from  "  the  babes  and  suck- 
lings;" that  is,  from  the  low  and  ignorant,  and  many  frauds 
had  been  practiced,  and  the  poor  had  been  cheated  of  their 
right;  so  that  not  being  allowed  to  read  and  judge  for 
themselves,  they  had  been  sadly  imposed  upon  ;  but  all 
these  tricks  had  been  put  an  end  to  more  than  two  hundred 
years  when  I  passed  through  the  country,  and  the  meanest 
man  who  could  read  might  then  have  a  copy  ;  so  that  he 
mitiht  see  himself  what  he  had  to  trust  to;  and  even  those 
who  could  not  read,  might  hear  it  read  once  or  twice  every 
week,  at  least,  without  pay,  by  learned  and  holy  men,  whose 
business  it  was.  But  it  surprised  me  to  see  how  few  com- 
paratively made  use  of  these  vast  advantages.  Of  those 
who  had  a  copy,  many  laid  it  carelessly  by,  expressed  a 
general  belief  in  the  truth  of  the  title-deed,  a-  general  satis- 
faction that  they  should  come  in  for  a  share  of  the  inherit- 
ance, a  general  good  opinion  of  the  lord  whose  word  it 
was,  and  a  getteral  disposition  to  take  his  promise  upon 
trust,  always,  however,  intending,  at  a  convenient  season  to 
inquire  further  into  the  matter;  but  this  convenient  season 
seldom  came  ;  and  this  neglect  of  theirs  was  construed  by 
their  lord  into  a  forfeiture  of  the  inheritance. 

At  the  end  of  this  country  lay  the  vast  gulf  mentioned 
before  ;  it  was  shadowe  1  over  by  a  broad  and  thick  cloud, 
which  prevente  I  the  pilgrims  from  seeing  in  a  distinct  man- 
ner what  was  doing  behind  it,  yet  such  beams  of  bright- 
ness now  and  then  darted  through  the  cloud,  as  enabled 
those  who  used  a  telescope,  provided  for  that  purpose,  to 


428  THE     PILGRIMS. 

see  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for  ;  but  it  was  not  every 
one  who  could  make  use  of  this  telescope ;  no  eye  indeed 
was  naturally  disposed  to  it ;  but  an  earnest  desire  of  get- 
ting a  glimpse  of  the  invisible  realities,  gave  such  a  strength 
and  steadiness  to  the  eye  which  used  the  telescope,  as  en- 
abled it  to  discern  many  things  which  could  not  be  seen  by 
the  natural  sight.  Above  the  cloud  was  this  inscription: 
"  The  things  vjhich  are  seen  are  temporal,  but  the  things 
which  are  not  seen  are  eternal."  Of  these  last  things  many 
glorious  descriptions  had  been  given  ;  but  as  those  splendors 
were  at  a  distance,  and  as  the  pilgrims  in  general  did  not 
care  to  use  the  telescope,  these  distant  glories  made  little  im- 
pression. 

The  glorious  inheritance  which  lay  beyond  the  cloud,  was 
called  "  The  things  above"  while  a  multitude  of  trifling  ob- 
jects, which  appeared  contemptibly  small  when  looked  at 
through  the  telescope,  were  called  "  the  things  below."  Now 
as  we  know  it  is  nearness  which  gives  size  and  bulk  to  any 
object,  it  was  not  wonderful  that  these  ill-judging  pilgrims 
were  more  struck  with  these  baubles  and  trifles,  which  by 
laying  close  at  hand,  were  visible  and  tempting  to  the  naked 
eye,  and  which  made  up  the  sum  of  the  things  beloiv,  than 
with  the  remote  glories  of  the  things  above  ;  but  this  was 
chiefly  owing  to  their  not  making  use  of  the  telescope, 
through  which,  if  you  examined  thoroughly  the  things  be- 
low, they  seemed  to  shrink  almost  down  to  nothing,  which 
was  indeed  their  real  size :  while  the  things  above  appeared 
the  more  beautiful  and  vast,  the  more  the  telescope  was 
used.  But  the  surprising  part  of  the  story  was  this ;  not 
that  the  pilgrims  were  captivated  at  first  sight  with  the 
tilings  below,  for  that  was  natural  enough  ;  but  that  when 
they  had  tried  them  all  over  and  over,  and  found  themselves 
deceived  and  disappointed  in  almost  every  one  of  them,  it 
did  not  at  all  lessen  their  fondness,  and  they  grasped  at 


THE     PILGRIMS.  429 

them  a"\iin  with  the  same  eagerness  as  before.  There  were 
some  gay  fruits  which  looked  alluring,  but  on  being  opened, 
instead  of  a  kernel,  they  were  found  to  contain  rottenness ; 
and  those  which  seemed  the  fullest,  often  proved  on  trial  to 
be  quite  hollow  and  empty.  Those  which  were  the  most 
tempting  to  the  eye,  were  often  found  to  be  wormwood  to 
the  taste,  or  poison  to  the  stomach,  and  many  flowers  that 
seemed  most  bright  and  gay  had  a  worm  gnawing  at  the 
root ;  and  it  was  observable  that  on  the  finest  and  brightest 
of  them  was  seen,  when  looked  at  through  the  telescope, 
the  word  vanity  inscribed  in  large  characters. 

Among  the  chief  attractions  of  the  things  below  were 
certain  little  lumps  of  yellow  clay,  on  which  almost  every 
eye  and  every  heart  was  fixed.  When  I  saw  the  variety  of 
uses  to  which  this  clay  could  be  converted,  and  the  respect 
which  was  shown  to  those  who  could  scrape  together  the 
greatest  number  of  pieces,  I  did  not  much  wonder  at  the 
general  desire  to  pick  up  some  of  them ;  but  when  I  be- 
held the  anxiety,  the  wakefulness,  the  competitions,  the  con- 
trivances, the  tricks,  the  frauds,  the  scuffling,  the  pushing, 
the  turmo'ling,  the  kicking,  the  shoving,  the  cheating,  the 
circumvention,  the  envy,  the  malignity,  which  was  excited 
by  a  desira  to  possess  this  article  ;  when  I  saw  the  general 
scramblo  among  those  who  had  little  to  get  much,  and  of 
those  who  had  much  to  get  more,  then  I  could  not  help  ap- 
plying to  these  people  a  proverb  in  use  among  us,  that  gold 
may  be  bought  too  dear. 

Though  I  saw  that  there  were  various  sorts  of  baubles 
which  ersrasred  the  hearts  of  different  travelers,  such  as  an 
ell  of  red  or  blue  ribbon,  for  which  some  were  content  to 
forfeit  their  future  inheritance,  committing  (he  sin  of  Esau, 
without  his  temptation  of  hunger;  yet  lie1  yellow  clay  I 
found  was  (he  grand  object  for  which  mosl  hands  were 
scrambling,  and  most  souls  were  risked.     One  thing  wasex- 


430  THE     PILGRIMS. 

traordinary,  that  the  nearer  these  people  wero  to  being 
turned  out  of  their  tenements,  the  fonder  they  grew  of  these 
pieces  of  clay ;  so  that  I  naturally  concluded  they  meant  to 
take  the  clay  with  them  to  the  far  country,  to  assist  them 
in  their  establishment  in  it ;  but  I  soon  learned  this  clay 
was  not  current  there,  the  lord  having  further  declared  to 
these  pilgrims  that  as  they  had  brought  nothing  into  this 
world,  they  could  carry  nothing  away. 

I  inquired  of  the  different  people  who  were  raising  the 
various  heaps  of  clay,  some  of  a  larger,  some  of  a  smaller 
size,  why  they  discovered  such  unremitting  anxiety,  and  for 
whom?  Some,  whose  piles  were  immense,  told  me  they 
were  heaping  up  for  their  children  ;  this  I  thought  very 
right,  till,  on  casting  my  eyes  around,  I  observed  many  of 
the  children  of  these  very  people  had  large  heaps  of  their 
own.  Others  told  me  it  was  for  their  grand-children  ;  but 
on  inquiry  I  found  these  were  not  yet  born,  and  in  many 
cases  there  was  little  chance  that  they  ever  would.  The 
truth,  on  a  close  examination,  proved  to  be,  that  the  true 
genuiue  heapers  really  heaped  for  themselves;  that  it  was 
in  fact  neither  for  friend  nor  child,  but  to  gratify  an  inordi- 
nate appetite  of  their  own.  Nor  was  I  much  surprised 
after  this  to  see  these  yellow  hoards  at  length  canker,  and 
the  rust  of  them  become  a  witness  against  the  hoarders,  and 
eat  their  flesh  as  it  were  fire. 

Many,  however,  who  had  set  out  with  a  high  heap  of 
their  father's  raising,  before  they  had  got  one  third  of  their 
journey,  had  scarcely  a  single  piece  left.  As  I  was  wonder- 
ing what  had  caused  these  enormous  piles  to  vanish  in  so 
short  a  time,  I  spied  scattered  up  and  clown  the  country  all 
sorts  of  odd  inventions,  for  some  or  other  of  which  the 
vain  possessors  of  the  great  heaps  of  clay  had  trucked  and 
bartered  them  away  in  fewer  hours  than  their  ancestors  had 
spent  years  in  getting  them  together.     O  what  a  strange 


THE     PILGRIMS.  431 

unaccountable  medley  it  was !  and  what  was  ridiculous 
enough,  I  observed  that  the  greatest  quantity  of  the  clay 
was  always  exchanged  for  things  that  were  of  no  use  that  I 
could  discover,  owing  I  suppose  to  my  ignorance  of  the 
manners  of  the  country. 

In  one  place  I  saw  large  heaps  exhausted,  in  order  to  set 
two  idle  pampered  horses  a  ruuniug ;  but  the  worst  of  the 
joke  was,  the  horses  did  not  run  to  fetch  or  carry  any 
thing,  and  of  course  were  of  no  kind  of  use,  but  merely  to  let 
the  gazers  see  which  could  run  fastest.  Now,  this  gift  of 
swiftness,  exercised  to  no  useful  purpose,  was  only  one  out 
of  many  instances,  I  observed,  of  talents  employed  to  no 
end.  In  another  place  I  saw  whole  piles  of  the  clay  spent 
to  maintain  long  ranges  of  buildings  full  of  dogs,  on  pro- 
visions which  would  have  nicely  fattened  some  thousands  of 
pilgrims,  who  sadly  wanted  fattening,  and  whose  ragged 
tenements  were  out  at  elbows,  for  want  of  a  little  help  to 
repair  them.  Some  of  the  piles  were  regularly  pulled  down 
once  in  seven  years,  in  order  to  corrupt  certain  needy  pil- 
grims to  belie  their  consciences,  by  doing  that  for  a  bribe 
which  they  were  bound  to  do  from  principle.  Others  were 
spent  in  playing  with  white  stiff  hits  of  paper,  painted  over 
with  red  and  black  spots,  in  which  I  thought  there  must  be 
some  conjuring,  because  the  very  touch  of  these  painted 
pasteboards  made  tin-  heaps  fly  from  one  to  another,  and 
back  again  to  the  same,  in  a  way  that  natural  causes  could 
not  account  for.  There  was  another  proof  that  there  must 
be  some  magic  in  this  business  which  was  that  if  a  paste- 
board with  red  spots  fell  into  a  hand  which  wanted  a  black 
one,  the  person  changed  color,  his  eyes  flashed  fire,  ami  he 
discovered  other  symptoms  of  madness,  which  showed  the  6 
was  some  witchcraft  in  the  case.  These  clean  little  paste- 
boards, as  harmless  as  they  looked,  had  the -wonderful  pow 
er  of  pulling  down  the   highest  piles  in  less  time  than  al 


432  THE     PILGRIMS. 

the  other  causes  put  together.  I  observed  that  many  small 
piles  were  given  in  exchange  for  an  enchanted  liquor  which 
when  the  purchaser  had  drank  to  a  little  excess,  he  lost 
the  power  of  managing  the  rest  of  his  heap  without  losing 
the  love  of  it ;  and  thus  the  excess  of  indulgence,  by  mak- 
ing him  a  beggar,  deprived  him  of  that  very  gratification 
on  which  his  heart  was  set. 

Now  I  find  it  was  the  opinion  of  sober  pilgrims,  that 
either  hoarding  the  clay,  or  trucking  it  for  any  such  pur- 
poses as  the  above,  was  thought  exactly  the  same  offense  in 
the  eyes  of  the  lord  ;  and  it  was  expected  that  when  they 
should  come  under  his  more  immediate  jurisdiction  in  the 
far  country,  the  penalty  annexed  to  hoarding  and  squan- 
dering would  be  nearly  the  same.  While  I  examined  the 
countenances  of  the  owners  of  the  heaps,  I  observed  that 
those  who  I  well  knew  never  intended  to  make  any  use  at 
all  of  their  heap,  were  far  more  terrified  at  the  thought  of 
losing  it,  or  of  being  torn  from  it,  than  those  were  who  were 
employing  it  in  the  most  useful  manner.  Those  who  best 
knew  what  to  do  with  it,  set  their  hearts  least  upon  it,  and 
were  always  most  willing  to  leave  it.  But  such  riddles 
were  common  in  this  odd  country.  It  was  indeed  a  very 
land  of  paradoxes. 

Now  I  wondered  why  these  pilgrims,  who  were  naturally 
made  erect  with  an  eye  formed  to  look  up  to  the  things 
above,  yet  had  their  eyes  almost  constantly  bent  in  the  other 
direction,  riveted  to  the  earth,  and  fastened  on  things  below, 
just  like  those  animals  who  walk  on  all  fours.  I  was  told 
they  had  not  always  been  subject  to  this  weakness  of  sight, 
and  proneness  to  earth  ;  that  they  had  originally  been  up- 
right and  beautiful,  having  been  created  after  the  image  of 
the  lord,  who  was  himself  the  perfection  of  beauty  ;  that  he 
had,  at  first,  placed  them  in  a  far  superior  situation,  which 
he  had  given  them  in  perpetuity  ;  but  that  their  first  an 


THE     PILGRIMS.  433 

cestors  fell  from  it  through  pride  and  carelessness ;  that 
upon  this  the  freehold  was  taken  away,  they  lost  their  orig- 
inal strength,  brightness,  and  beauty,  and  were  driven  out 
into  this  strange  country,  where,  however,  they  had  every 
opportunity  given  them  of  recovering  their  original  health, 
and  the  lord's  favor  and  likeness  ;  for  they  were  become  so 
disfigured,  and  were  grown  so  unlike  him,  that  you  would 
hardly  believe  they  were  his  own  children,  though,  in  some, 
the  resemblance  was  become  attain  visible. 

The  lord,  however,  was  so  merciful,  that,  instead  of  giv- 
ing them  up  to  the  dreadful  consequences  of  their  own 
folly,  as  he  might  have  doue  without  any  impeachment  of 
his  justice,  he  gave  them  immediate  comfort,  and  promised 
them  that,  in  due  time,  his  own  son  should  come  down  and 
restore  them  to  the  future  inheritance  which  he  should  pur- 
chase for  them.  And  now  it  was,  that  in  order  to  keep  up 
their  spirits,  after  they  had  lost  their  estate  through  the 
folly  of  their  ancestors,  that  he  began  to  give  them  a  part 
of  their  former  title-deed.  He  continued  to  send  them  por- 
tions of  it  from  time  to  time  by  different  faithful  servants, 
whom,  however,  these  ungrateful  people  generally  used  ill, 
and  some  of  whom  they  murdered.  But  for  all  this,  the 
lord  was  so  very  forgiving,  that  he  at  length  sent  these 
mutineers  a  proclamation  of  full  and  free  pardon  by  his  son. 
This  son,  though  they  used  him  in  a  more  cruel  manner 
than  they  had  done  any  of  his  servants,  yet  after  having 
finished  the  work  his  father  gave  him  to  do,  went  back 
into  the  far  country  to  prepare  a  place  for  all  them  who 
believe  in  him  ;  and  there  he  still  lives ;  begging  and  plead- 
ing for  those  unkind  people,  whom  he  still  loves  and  for- 
gives, and  will  restore  to  the  purchased  inheritance  on  the 
easy  terms  of  tfieir  being  heartily  sorry  for  what  they  have 
done,  thoroughly  desirous  of  pardon,  and  convinced  that  he 

19 


434  THE     PILGRIMS. 

is  able  and  willing  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all  them  that 
come  unto  him. 

I  saw,  indeed,  that  many  old  offenders  appeared  to  be 
sorry  for  what  they  had  done ;  that  is,  they  did  not  like  to 
be  punished  for  it.  They  were  willing  enough  to  be  de- 
livered from  the  penalty  of  their  guilt,  but  they  did  not 
heartily  wish  to  be  delivered  from  the  power  of  it.  Many 
declared,  in  the  most  public  manner,  once  every  week,  that 
they  were  sorry  they  had  done  amiss  ;  that  they  had  erred 
and  strayed  like  lost  sheep,  hut  it  was  not  enough  to  declart 
their  sorrow,  ever  so  often,  if  they  gave  no  other  sign  of 
their  penitence.  For  there  was  so  little  truth  in  them,  tha 
the4ord  required  other  proofs  of  their  sincerity  beside  theii 
own  word,  for  they  often  lied  with  their  lips  and  dissembled 
with  their  tongue.  But  those  who  professed  to  be  penitents 
must  give  some  outward  proof  of  it.  They  were  neither  al- 
lowed to  raise  heaps  of  clay,  by  circumventing  their  neigh- 
bors, or  to  keep  great  piles  lying  by  them  useless  ;  nor  must 
they  barter  them  for  any  of  those  idle  vanities  which  re- 
duced the  heaps  on  a  sudden  ;  for  I  found  that  among  the 
grand  articles  of  future  reckoning,  the  use  they  had  made 
of  the  heaps  would  be  a  principal  one. 

I  was  sorry  to  observe  many  of  the  fairer  part  of  these 
pilgrims  spend  too  much  of  their  heaps  in  adorning  and 
beautifying  their  tenements  of  clay,  in  painting,  white- 
washing, and  enameling  thorn.  All  those  tricks,  however, 
did  not  preserve  them  from  decay ;  and  when  they  grew 
old,  they  even  looked  worse  for  all  this  cost  and  varnish. 
Some,  however,  acted  a  more  sensible  part,  and  spent  no 
more  upon  their  moldering  tenements  than  just  to  keep 
them  whole  and  clean,  and  in  good  repair,  which  is  what 
every  tenant  ought  to  do ;  and  I  observed,  that  those  who 
were  most  moderate  in  the  care  of  their  own  tenements, 
were  most  attentive  to  repair  and  wami  the  ragged  tene- 


THE     PILGRIMS.  435 

merits  of  others.  But  none  did  this  with  much  zeal  or  ac- 
ceptance, but  those  who  had  acquired  a  habit  of  overlook- 
ing the  things  below,  and  who  also,  by  the  constant  use  of 
the  telescope  had  got  their  natural  weak  and  dim  sio-ht  so 
strengthened,  as  to  be  able  to  discern  pretty  distinctly  the 
nature  of  the  things  above.  The  habit  of  fixing  their  eyes 
on  these  glories  made  all  the  shining  trifles,  which  compose 
the  mass  of  things  below,  at  last  appear  in  their  own  dimin- 
utive littleness.  For  it  was  in  this  case  particularly  true, 
that  things  are-only  hig  or  little  by  comparison ;  and  there 
was  no  other  way  of  making  the  things  below,  appear  as 
small  as  they  really  were,  but  by  comparing  them,  by  means 
of  the  telescope,  with  the  things  above.  But  I  observed 
that  the  false  judgment  of  the  pilgrims  ever  kept  pace  with 
their  wrong  practices;  for  those  who  kept  their  eyes  fasten- 
ed on  the  things  below,  were  reckoned  wise  in  their  genera- 
tion, while  the  few  who  looked  forward  to  the  future  glories, 
were  accounted  by  the  bustlers,  or  heapers,'  to  be  either  fools 
or  mad. 

Most  of  these  pilgrims  went  on  in  adorning  their  tene- 
ments, adding  to  their  heaps,  grasping  the  things  below  as 
if  they  would  never  let  them  go,  shutting  their  eyes,  instead 
of  using  their  telescope,  and  neglecting  their  title-deed,  as 
if  it  was  the  parchment  of  another  man's  estate,  and  not  of 
their  own;  till  one  after  another  each  felt  his  tenement 
tumbling  about  his  ears.  Oh  !  then  what  a  busy,  bustling 
anxious,  terrifying,  distracting  moment  was  that  !  What  a 
deal  of  husinrss  was  to  be  done,  and  what  a  strange  time 
was  this  to  do  it  in!  Xow,  to  see  the  confusion  and  dismay 
occasioned  by  having  left  every  thing  to  the  last  minute. 
First,  some  one  was  sent  for  to  make  over  the  yellow  heaps, 
to  another,  which  the  heaper  now  found  would  be  of  no  use 
to  himself  in  shooting  the  gulf;  a  transfer  which  ought  to 
have   been  made    while   the  tenement  "was  sound.     Then 


436  THE     PILGRIMS. 

there  was  a  consultation  between  two  or  three  masons  at 
once  perhaps,  to  try  to  patch  up  the  walls,  and  strengthen 
the  props,  and  stop  the  decays  of  the  tumbling  tenement ; 
but  not  till  the  masons  were  forced  to  declare  it  was  past 
repairing  (a  truth  they  were  rather  too  apt  to  keep  back) 
did  the  tenant  seriously  think  it  was  time  to  pack  up,  pre- 
pare and  begone.  Then  what  sending  for  the  wise  men 
who  professed  to  explain  the  title-deed !  And  oh  !  what 
remorse  that  they  had  neglected  to  examine  it  till  their 
senses  were  too  confused  for  so  weighty  a  business  !  What 
reproaches,  or  what  exhortations  to  others,  to  look  better 
after  their  own  affairs  than  they  had  done.  Even  to  the 
wisest  of  the  inhabitants  the  falling  of  their  tenements  was 
a  solemn  thing;  solemn,  but  not  surprising;  they  had  long 
been  packing  up  and  preparing ;  they  praised  their  lord's 
goodness  that  they  had  been  suffered  to  stay  so  long ;  many 
acknowledged  the  mercy  of  their  frequent  warnings,  and 
confessed  that  those  very  dilapidations  which  had  made  the 
house  uncomfortable  had  been  a  blessing,  as  it  had  set  them 
on  diligent  preparation  for  their  future  inheritance ;  had 
made  them  more  earnest  in  examining  their  title  to  it,  and 
had  set  them  on  such  a  frequent  application  to  the  telescope, 
that  the  things  above  had  seemed  everyday  to  approach 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  things  below  to  recede  and  vanish 
in  proportion.  These  desired  not  to  be  unclothed  but  to  be 
clothed  upon,  for  they  knew  that  if  their  tabernacle  was 
dissolved,  they  had  an  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal 
in  the  heavens. 


THE    VALLEY   OF    TEAKS. 
A    VISION; 

OR,  BEAR  YE  ONE  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS. 


4  *  » 


Once  upon  a  time  methought  I  set  out  upon  a  long  jour- 
ney, and  the  place  through  which  I  traveled  appeared  to 
be  a  dark  valley,  which  was  called  the  Valley  of  Tears.  It 
had  obtained  this  name,  not  only  on  account  of  the  many 
sorrowful  adventures  which  poor  passengers  commonly  meet 
with  in  their  journey  through  it ;  but  also  because  most  of 
these  travelers  entered  it  weeping  and  crying,  and  left  it  in 
very  great  pain  and  anguish.  This  vast  valley  was  full  of 
people  of  all  colors,  ages,  sizes  and  descriptions.  But 
whether  white  or  black,  or  tawny,  all  were  traveling  the 
same  road  ;  or  rather  they  were  taking  different  little  paths 
which  all  led  to  the  same  common  end. 

Now  it  was  remarkable,  that  notwithstanding  the  different 
complexions,  ages,  and  tempers  of  this  vast  variety  of  peo- 
ple, yet  all  resembled  each  other  in  this  one  respect,  that 
each  had  a  burden  on  his  back  which  he  was  destined  to 
carry  through  the  toil  and  heat  of  the  day,  until  he  should 
arrive,  by  a  longer  or  shorter  course,  at  his  journ  v*>  en  I. 
These  burdens  would  in  general  liave  made  the  pilgrimage 
quite  intolerable,  had  not  the  lord  of  the  valley,  out  ui'  his 
great  compassion  for  these  poor  pilgrims,  provided,  among 
other  things,  the  following  means  for  their  relief. 


438  THE    VALLEY     OF    TEARS. 

la  their  full  view  over  the  entrance  of  the  valley,  there 
were  written,  in  great  letters  of  gold,  the  following  words: 

BEAR  YE  ONE  ANOTHER'S  BURDENS. 

Now  I  saw  in  my  vision  that  many  of  the  travelers  hur- 
ried on  without  stopping  to  read  this  inscription,  and  others, 
though  they  had  once  read  it,  yet  paid  little  or  no  attention 
to  it.  A  third  sort  thought  it  very  good  advice  for  other 
people,  but  very  seldom  applied  it  to  themselves.  They 
uniformly  desired  to  avail  themselves  of  the  assistance  which 
by  this  injunction  others  were  bound  to  offer  them,  but  sel- 
dom considered  that  the  obligation  was  mutual,  and  that 
reciprocal  wants  and  reciprocal  services  formed  the  strong 
cord  in  the  bond  of  charity.  In  short,  I  saw  that  too  many 
of  these  people  were  of  opinion  that  they  had  burdens 
enough  of  their  own,  and  that  there  was  therefore  no  occa- 
sion to  take  upon  them  those  of  others ;  so  each  tried  to 
make  his  own  load  as  light,  and  his  own  journey  as  pleasant 
as  he  could,  without  so  much  as  once  casting  a  thought  on 
a  poor  ove.  loaded  neighbor.  Here,  however,  I  have  to 
make  a  rather  singular  remark,  by  which  I  shall  plainly 
show  the  folly  of  these  selfish  people.  It  was  so  ordered 
and  contrived  by  the  lord  of  this  valley,  that  if  any  one 
stretched  out  hi ;  hand  to  lighten  a  neighbor's  burden,  in 
fact  he  never  failed  to  find  that  he  at  that  moment  also 
lightened  his  ow.i.  Besides  the  benefit  of  helping  each 
other,  was  as  niutu  .1  as  the  obligation.  If  a  man  helped 
his  neighbor,  it  commonly  happened  that  some  other  neigh- 
bor came  by-and-by  and  helped  him  in  his  turn  ;  for  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  what  we  called  independence  in  the 
whole  valley.  Not  one  of  all  these  travelers,  however  stout 
and  strong,  could  move  on  comfortably  without  assistance, 
for  so  the  lord  of  the  valley,  whose  laws  were  all  of  them 
kind  and  good,  had  expressly  ordained. 


THE     VALLEY     OF     TEARS.  439 

I  stood  still  to  watch  the  progress  of  these  poor  wayfar- 
ing people,  who  moved  slowly  on,  like  so  many  ticket- 
porters,  with  burdens  of  various  kinds  on  their  backs  ;  of 
which  some  were  heavier  and  some  were  lighter,  but  from 
a  burden  of  one  kind  or  other,  not  one  traveler  was  entirely 
free.  There  might  be  some  difference  in  the  degree,  and 
some  distinction  in  the  nature,  but  exemption  there  was 
none. 

THE    WIDOW. 

A  sorrowful  widow,  oppressed  with  the  burden  of  grief 
for  the  loss  of  an  affectionate  husband,  moved  heavily  on, 
and  would  have  been  bowed  down  by  her  heavy  load,  had 
not  the  surviving  children,  with  great  alacrity,  stepped  for- 
ward and  supported  her.  Their  kindness,  after  a  while,  so 
much  lio-htened  the  load  which  threatened  at  first  to  be  in- 
tolerable,  that  she  even  went  on  her  way  with  cheerfulness, 
and  more  than  repaid  their  help,  by  applying  the  strength 
she  derived  from  it  to  their  future  assistance. 

THE    HUSBAND. 

I  next  saw  a  poor  old  man  tottering  under  a  burden  so 
heavy,  that  I  expected  him  every  moment  to  sink  under  it. 
I  peeped  into  his  pack,  and  saw  it  was  made  up  of  many 
sad  articles  :  there  were  poverty,  oppression,  sickness,  debt, 
and,  what  mad.'  by  far  tin-  heaviesl  part,  undutiful  children. 
I  was  wondering  how  it  was  thai  he  got  on  even  so  well  as 
he  did,  till  I  spied  his  wife,  a  kind,  meek,  Christian  woman, 
who  was  doing  her  utmost  to  assist  him.  She  quietly  got 
behind,  gently  laid  her  shoulder  to  the  burden,  and  carried 
a  much  larger  portion  of  it  than  appeared  to  me  when  I 
was  at  a  distance  It  was  not  the  smallest  pari  of  the  hen- 
fit  that  she  was  anxious  to  conceal  it.  She  not  only  sus- 
tained him  by  her  strength,  but  cheered  him  by  her  coun- 
sels.    She  told  him,  that  "  through  much   tribulation  wo 


440  THE     V  A.  LLEY     OF     TEARS. 

must  enter  into  rest;"  that  "lie  that  overcometh  shall  in- 
herit all  things."  In  short,  she  so  supported  his  fainting 
spirit,  that  he  was  enabled  to  "  run  with  patience  the  race 
which  was  set  before  him." 

THE    KIND    NEIGHBOR. 

An  infirm,  blind  woman  was  creeping  forward,  with  a 
very  heavy  burden,  in  which  were  packed  sickness  and 
want,  with  numberless  other  of  those  raw  materials  out  $f 
which  human  misery  is  worked  up.     She  was  so  weak  that 
she  could  not  have  got  on  at  all,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
kind  assistance  of  another  woman  almost  as  poor  as  herself, 
who,  though  she  had  no  light  burden  of  her  own,  cheerfully 
lent  a  helping  hand  to  a  fellow-traveler  who  was  still  more 
heavily  laden.     This  friend  had  indeed  little  or  nothing  to 
give,  but  the  very  voice  of  kindness  is  soothing  to  the 
weary.     And  I  remarked  in  many  other,  cases,  that  it  was 
not  so  much  the  degree  of  the  help  afforded,  as  the  manner 
of  helping  that  lightened  the  burdens.     Some  had  a  coarse, 
rough,  clumsy  way  of  assisting  a  neighbor,  which,  though 
in  fact  it  might  be  of  real  use,  yet  seemed,  by  galling  the 
traveler,  to  add  to  the  load  it  was  intended  to  lighten  ;  while 
I  observed  in   others  that  so  cheap  a  kindness  as  a  mild 
word,  or  even  an  affectionate  look  made  a  poor  burdened 
wretch  move  on  cheerily.     The  bare  feeling  that  some  hu- 
man being  cared  for  him,  seemed  to  lighten  the  load.     But 
to  return  to  this  kind  neighbor.     She  had  a  little  old  book 
in  her  hand,  the  covers  of  which  were  worn  out  by  much 
use.     When  she  saw  the  blind  woman  ready  to  faint,  she 
would  read  her  a  few  words  out  of  this  book,  such  as  the 
following  :  "  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven."     "  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for 
they  shall  be  comforted."     "  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  for- 
sake thee."     "  For  our  light  affliction,  which  is  but  for  a 


THE     VALLEY     OF     TEARS.  441 

moment,  worketh  out  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  etep 
nal  weight  of  glory."  These  quickened  the  pace,  and  sus- 
tained the  spirits  of  the  blind  traveler  ;  and  the  kind  neigh- 
bor, by  thus  directing  the  attention  of  the  poor  sufferer  to 
the  blessings  of  a  better  world,  helped  to  enable  her  to  sus- 
tain the  affliction  of  this,  more  effectually  than  if  she  had 
had  gold  and  silver  to  bestow  on  her. 

THE    CLERGYMAN. 

A  pious  minister,  sinking  under  the  weight  of  a  dis- 
tressed parish,  whose  worldly  wants  he  was  totally  unable 
to  bear,  was  suddenly  relieved  by  a  charitable  widow,  who 
came  up  and  took  all  the  sick  and  hungry  on  her  own 
shoulders  as  her  part  of  the  load.  The  burden  of  the  par- 
ish, thus  divided,  became  tolerable.  The  minister  being  no 
longer  bowed  down  by  the  temporal  distresses  of  his  peo- 
ple, applied  himself  cheerfully  to  his  own  part  of  the  weight. 
And  it  was  pleasant  to  see  how  those  two  persons,  neither 
of  them  very  strong,  or  rich,  or  healthy,  by  thus  kindly 
uniting  together,  were  enabled  to  bear  the  weight  of  a 
whole  parish  ;  though  singly,  either  of  them  must  have 
sunk  under  the  attempt.  And  I  remember  one  great  grief 
I  felt  during  my  whole  journey  was,  that  I  did  not  see  more 
of  this  union  and  concurring  kindness — more  of  this  act- 
ing in  concert,  by  which  all  the  burdens  might  have  been 
so  easily  divided.  It  troubled  me  to  observe,  that  of  all 
the  laws  of  the  valley  there  was  not  one  more  frequently 
broken  than  the  law  of  kindness. 

TnE    NEGROES. 

I  now  spied  a  swarm  of  poor  black  men,  women,  and 
children,  a  multitude  which  no  man  could  number;  these 
groaned,  and  toiled,  and  sweated,  and  hied  under  far  heav- 
ier loads  than  I  have  yet  seen.     But  for  a  while  no  man, 

19* 


442  .THE     VALLEY    OF    TEARS. 

helped  them  ;  at  length  a  few  white  travelers  were  touched 
with  the  sorrowful  sighing  of  those  millions,  and  very  heart- 
ily did  they  put  their  hands  to  the  burdens  ;  but  their  num- 
ber was  not  quite  equal  to  the  work  they  had  undertaken. 
I  perceived,  however,  that  they  never  lost  sight  of  these 
poor  heavily-laden  wretches  ;  though  often  repulsed,  they 
returned  tigain  to  the  charge  ;  though  discomfited,  they  re- 
newed the  effort,  and  some  eren  pledged  themselves  to  an 
annual  attempt  till  the  project  was  accomplished  ;  and  as 
the  number  of  these  generous  helpers  increased  every  year, 
I  felt  a  comfortable  hope,  that  before  all  the  blacks  got  out 
of  the  valley,  the  whites  would  fairly  divide  the  burden,  and 
the  loads  would  be  effectually  lightened. 

Among  the  travelers,  I  had  occasion  to  remark,  that 
those  who  most  kicked  and  struggled  under  their  burdens, 
only  made  them  so  much  the  heavier,  for  their  shoulders 
became  extremely  galled  by  these  vain  and  ineffectual  strug- 
gles. The  load,  if  borne  patiently,  would  in  the  end  have 
turned  even  to  the  advantage  of  the  bearers,  for  so  the  lord 
of  the  valley  had  kindly  decreed ;  but  as  to  these  grum- 
blers, they  had  all  the  smart,  and  none  of  the  benefit ;  they 
had  the  present  suffering  without  the  future  reward.  But 
the  thing  which  made  all  these  burdens  seem  so  very  heavy 
was,  that  in  every  one  without  exception,  there  was  a  cer- 
tain inner  packet,  which  most  of  the  travelers  took  pains  to 
conceal,  and  kept  carefully  wrapped  up ;  and  while  they 
were  forward  enough  to  complain  of  the  other  part  of  their 
burdens,  few  said  a  word  about  this,  though  in  truth  it  was 
the  pressing  weight  of  this  secret  packet  which  served  to 
render  the  general  burden  so  intolerable.  In  spite  of  all 
their  caution,  I  contrived  to  get  a  peep  at  it.  I  found  in 
each  that  this  packet  had  the  same  label — the  word  sin  was 
written  on  all  as  a  general  title,  and  in  ink  so  black  that 
they  could  not  wash  it  out.     I  observed  that  most  of  them 


THE     VALLEY     OF     TEARS.  443 

took  no  small  pains  to  hide  the  writing ;  but  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  that  they  did  not  try  to  get  rid  of  the  load  but 
the  label.  If  any  kind  friend  who  assisted  these  people  in 
bearing  their  burdens,  did  but  so  much  as  hint  at  the  se- 
cret packet,  or  advise  them  to  get  rid  of  it,  they  took  fire 
at  once,  and  commonly  denied  they  had  any  such  article  in 
their  portmanteau  ;  and  it  was  those  whose  secret  packet 
swelled  to  the  most  enormous  size,  who  most  stoutly  denied 
they  had  any. 

I  saw  with  pleasure,  however,  that  some  who  had  long 
labored  heartily  to  get  rid  of  this  inward  packet,  at  length 
found  it  much  diminished,  and  the  more  this  packet  shrunk 
in  size,  the  lighter  was  the  other  part  of  their  burden  also. 
I  observed,  moreover,  that  though  the  label  always  remained 
in  some  degree  indelible,  yet  that  those  who  were  in  earnest 
to  get  rid  of  the  load,  found  that  the  original  traces  of  the 
label  grew  fainter  also  ;  it  was  never  quite  obliterated  in 
any,  though  in  some  cases  it  seemed  nearly  effaced. 

Then  methought,  all  at  once,  I  heard  a  voice,  as  it  had 
been  the  voice  of  an  angel,  crying  out  and  saying,  "  Ye  un- 
happy  pilgrims,  why  are  ye  troubled  about  the  burden 
which  ye  are  doomed  to  bear  through  this  valley  of  tears  ? 
Know  ye  not,  that  as  soon  as  ye  shall  have  escaped  out  of 
this  valley  the  whole  burden  shall  drop  olf,  provided  ye  neg- 
lect not  to  remove  that  inward  weight,  that  secret  load  of 
sin  which  principally  oppresses  you  ?  Study,  then,  the 
whole  will  of  the  lord  of  this  valley.  Learn  from  him  how 
this  heavy  part  of  your  burdens  may  now  be  lessened,  and 
how  at  last  it  may  be  removed  forever.  Be  comforted. 
Faith  and  hope  may  cheer  you  even  in  this  valley.  The 
passage,  though  it  seems  long  to  weary  travelers,  is  compar- 
atively short,  for  beyond  there  is  a  land  of  everlasting  rest, 
where  ye  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more; 
where  ye  shall  be  led  by  living  fountains  of  waters,  and  all 
tears  shall  be  wiped  away  from  your  «yes." 


THE  STRAIT  GATE  AND  THE  BROAD  WAY. 


■* » *■ 


Now,  I  had  a  second  vision  of  what  was  passing  in  the 
Valley  of  Tears.  Methought  I  saw  again  the  same  kind  of 
travelers  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  former  part,  and  they 
were  wandering  at  large  through  the  same  vast  wilderness. 
At  first  setting  out  on  his  journey,  each  traveler  had  a  small 
lamp  so  fixed  in  his  bosom  that  it  seemed  to  make  a  part  of 
himself;  but  as  this  natural  light  did  not  prove  to  be  suf- 
ficient to  direct  them  in  the  right  way,  the  king  of  the 
country,  in  pity  to  their  wanderings  and  blinlness,  out  of 
his  gracious  condescension,  promised  to  give  these  poor 
wayfaring  people  an  additional  supply  of  light  from  his  own 
royal  treasury.  But  as  he  did  not  choose  to  lavish  his 
favors  where  there  seemed  no  disposition  to  receive  them, 
he  would  not  bestow  any  of  his  oil  on  such  as  did  nut  think 
it  worth  asking  for.  "  Ask  and  ye  shall  have,"  was  the 
universal  rule  he  laid  down  for  them.  But  though  they 
knew  the  condition  of  the  obligation,  many  were  prevented 
from  asking  through  pride  and  vanity,  for  they  thought 
they  had  light  enough  already,  preferring  the  feeble  glim- 
mering of  their  own  lamp  to  all  the  offered  light  from  the 
king's  treasury.  Yet  it  was  observed  of  those  who  had  re- 
jected it,  as  thinking  they  had  enough,  that  hardly  any 
acted  up  to  what  even  their  own  natural  light  showed  them. 
Others  were  deterred  from  asking,  because  they  were  told 
that  this  light  not  only  pointed  out  the  dangers  and  diffi- 


THE     STRAIT     GATE     AND     THE     BROAD     WAY.     445 

culties  of  the  -road,  but  by  a  certain  reflecting  power,  it 
turned  inward  on  themselves,  and  revealed  to  them  ugly 
sights  in  their  own  hearts,  to  which  they  rather  chose  to  be 
blind ;  for  those  travelers  were  of  that  j>reposterous  num- 
ber who  "  chose  darkness  rather  than  light,"  and  for  the  old 
obvious  reason — "  because  their  deeds  were  evil."  Now,  it 
was  remarkable  that  these  two  properties  were  inseparable, 
and  that  the  lamp  would  be  of  little  outward  use,  except  to 
those  who  used  it  as  an  internal  reflector.  A  threat  and  a 
promise  also  never  failed. to  accompany  the  offer  of  this 
light  from  the  king  :  a  promise  that  to  those  who  improved 
what  they  had,  more  should  be  given;  and  a  threat,  that 
from  those  who  did  not  use  it  wisely,  should  be  taken  away 
even  what  they  had. 

I  observed  that  when  the  road  was  very  dangerous  ;  when 
terrors,  and  difficulties,  and  death  beset  the  fervent  traveler  ; 
then,  on  their  faithful  importunity,  the  king  voluntarily 
gave  large  and  bountiful  supplies  of  light,  such  as  in  com- 
mon seasons  never  could  have  been  expected  :  always  pro- 
portioning the  quantity  to  the  necessity  of  the  case';  "as 
their  day  was,  such  was  their  light  an  1  strength." 

Though  many  chose  to  depend  entirely  on  their  own  orig- 
inal lamp,  vet  it  was  observed  that  this  light  was  apt  to  go 
out  if  left  to  itself.  It  was  easily  blown  out  by  those  violent 
gusts  which  were  perpetually  howling  through  the  wilder- 
ness;  and  indeed  it  was  the  natural  tendency  of  that  un- 
wholesome atmosphere  to  extinguish  it,  just  as  you  have 
seen  a  candle  go  out  when  exposed  to  the  vapors  and  foul 
air  of  a,  damp  room.  It  was  a  melancholy  sight  to  see  mul- 
titudes of  travelers  heedlessly  pacing  OD  boasting  they  had 
light  enough  of  their  own,  and  despising  the  offer  of  mor  . 

But  what  astonished  me  most  of  all  was,  to  see  many, 
and  some  of  them  too  accounted  men  of  first  rate  wit,  ac- 
tually busy  in  blowing  out  their  own  light,  because  whila 


446  THE     STRAIT     GATE 

any  spark  of  it  remained,  it  only  served  to  torment  them, 
and  point  out  things  which  they  did  not  wish  to  see.  And 
having  once  blown  out  their  own  light,  they  were  not  easy 
till  they  had  blown  out  that  of  their  neighbors  also  ;  so  that 
a  good  part  of  this  wilderness  seemed  to  exhibit  a  sort  of 
universal  blind  mail's  buff,  each  endeavoring  to  catch  his 
neighbor,  while  his  own  voluntary  blindness  exposed  him 
to  be  caught  himself ;  so  that  each  was  actually  falling  into 
the  snare  he  was  laying  for  another  till  at  length,  as  self- 
ishness is  the  natural  consequence  of  blinduess,  "  catch  he 
that  catch  can,"  became  the  general  motto  of  the  wilder- 
ness. 

Now  I  saw  in  my  vision,  that  there  were  some  others  who 
were  busy  in  strewing  the  most  gaudy  flowers  over  the 
numerous  bogs,  and  precipices,  and  pitfalls  with  which  the 
wilderness  abounded ;  and  thus  making  danger  and  death 
look  so  gay,  that  poor  thoughtless  creatures  seemed  to  de- 
light in  their  own  destruction.  Those  pitfalls  did  not  ap- 
pear deep  or  dangerous  to  the  eye,  because  over  them  were 
raised  gay  edifices  with  alluring  names.  These  were  filled 
with  singing  men  and  singing  women,  and  with  dancing, 
and  feasting,  and  gaming,  and  drinking,  and  jollity,  and 
madness.  But  though  the  scenery  was  gay,  the  footing  was 
unsound.  The  floors  were  full  of  holes,  through  which  the 
unthinking  merry-makers  were  continually  sinking.  Some 
tumbled  through  in  the  middle  of  a  sons?  ;  more  at  the  end 
of  a  feast ;  and  though  there  was  many  a  cup  of  intoxica- 
tion wreathed  round  with  flowers,  yet  there  was  always 
poison  at  the  bottom.  But  what  most  surprised  me  was 
that  though  no  day  passed  over  their  heads  in  which  some 
of  the  most  merry-makers  did  net  drop  through,  yet  their 
loss  made  little  impression  on  those  who  were  left.  Nay, 
instead  of  being  awakened  to  more  circumspection  and 
self-denial   by  the    continual  dropping  off  of  thpse   about 


AND     THE     BROAD     WAY.  44'/ 

them,  several  o,f  them  seemed  to  borrow  from  thence  an 
argument  of  a  direct  contrary  tendency,  and  the  very  short- 
ness of  time  was  only  urged  as  a  reason  to  use  it  more 
sedulously  for  the  indulgence  in  sensual  delights.  "  Let  us 
eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die."  "  Let  us  crown  our- 
selves with  rose-buds  before  they  are  withered."  With 
these  and  a  thousand  other  such  like  inscriptions,  the  gay 
garlands  of  the  wilderness  were  decorated.  Some  admired 
poets  were  set  to  work  to  set  the  most  corrupt  sentiments  to 
the  most  harmonious  tunes ;  these  were  sung  without  scru- 
ple, chiefly  indeed  hy  the  looser  sous  of  riot,  but  not  seldom 
also  by  the  more  orderly  daughters  of  sobriety,  who  were  not 
ashamed  to  sing  to  the  sound  of  instruments,  sentiments  so 
corrupt  and  immoral,  that  they  would  have  blushed  to  speak 
or  read  them  ;  but  the  music  seemed  to  sanctify  the  corrup- 
tion, especially  such  as  was  connected  with  love  or  drinking. 
Now  I  observed  that  all  the  travelers  who  had  so  much 
as  a  spark  of  life  left,  seemed  every  now  and  then,  as  they 
moved  onward,  to  cast  an  eye,  though  with  very  different 
degrees  of  attention,  toward  the  Happy  Land,  which  they 
were  told  lay  at  the  end  of  their  journey  :  but  as  they  oeuld 
not  see  very  far  forward,  and  as  they  knew  there  was  a  dark 
and  shadow//  valley  which  must  needs  be  crossed  before 
they  could  attain  to  the  Happy  Land,  they  tried  to  turn 
their  attention  from  it  as  much  as  they  could.  The  truth  is, 
they  were  not  sufficiently  apt  to  consult  a  map  and  a  road- 
book which  the  King  had  given  them,  and  which  pointed 
out  the  path  to  the  Happy  Land  so  clearly  that  the  "  way- 
faring men,  though  simple,  could  not  err."  This  map  also 
defined  very  correctly  the  boundaries  of  the  Happy  Land 
from  the  Land  of  Misery,  both  of  which  lay  on  the  other 
side  of  the  dark  and  shadowy  valley  ;  but  SO  man\  teacons 
and  lighthouses  were  erected,  so  many  clear  and  explicit 
directions  furnished  for  avoiding  the  one  country  and  attain- 


448  THE     STRAIT     GATE 

ing  the  other,  that  it  was  not  the  King's  fault,  if  even  one 
single  traveler  got  wrong.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think  that, 
in  spite  of  the  map  and  road-book,  and  the  King's  word,  and 
his  offers  of  assistance  to  get  them  thither,  that  the  travel- 
ers in  general  did  not  heartily  and  truly  believe,  after  all, 
that  there  was  any  such  country  as  the  Happy  Land ;  or 
at  least  the  paltry  and  transient  pleasures  of  the  wilderness 
so  besotted  them,  the  thoughts  of  the  dark  and  shadowy 
valley  so  frightened  them,  that  they  thought  they  should  be 
more  comfortable  by  banishing  all  thought  and  forecast,  and 
driving  the  subject  quite  out  of  their  heads. 

Now,  I  also  saw  in  my  dream,  that  there  Ave  re  two  roads 
through  the  wilderness,  one  of  which  every  traveler  must 
needs  take.  The  first  was  narrow,  and  difficult,  and  rough, 
but  it  was  infallibly  safe.  It  did  not  admit  the  traveler  to 
stray  either  to  the  right  hand  or  the  left,  yet  it  was  far  from 
being  destitute  of  real  comforts  or  sober  pleasures.  The 
other  was  a  broad  and  tempting  way,  abounding  with  luxu- 
rious fruits  and  gaudy  flowers,  to  tempt  the  eye  and  please 
the  appetite.  To  forget  this  dark  valley,  through  which 
every  traveler  was  well  assured  he  must  one  day  pass, 
seemed  the  object  of  general  desire.  To  this  grand  end,  all 
that  human  ingenuity  could  invent  was  industriously  set  to 
woi'k.  The  travelers  read,  and  they  wrote,  and  they  paint- 
ed, and  they  sung,  and  they  danced,  and  they  drank  as  they 
went  along,  not  so  much  because  they  all  cared  for  these 
things,  or  had  any  real  joy  in  them,  as  because  this  restless 
activity  served  to  divert  their  attention  from  ever  being  fix- 
ed on  the  dark  and  shadowy  valley. 

The  King,  who  knew  the  thoughtless  tempers  of  the  trav- 
elers, and  how  apt  they  were  to  forget  their  journey's 
end,  had  thought  of  a  thousand  kind  little  attentions  to 
warn  them  of  their  dangers:  and  as  we  sometimes  see  in 
our  gardens  written  on  a  board  in  great  letters,  Beware  o$ 


AND    THE     BROAD     WAY.  449 

SPRING  GUNS — -MAN  TRAPS  ARE  SET  HERE  I    SO  had    this  tin  ST 

caused  to  be  written  and  stuck  up  before  the  eyes  of  the 
travelers,  several  little  notices  and  cautions ;  such  as, 
"Broad  is  the  way  that  leadeth  to  destruction." — "Take 
heed,  lest  you  also  perish."  "  Woe  to  them  that  rise  up 
early  to  drink  wine."  "The  pleasures  of  sin  are  but  for  a 
season,"  etc.  Such  were  the  notices  directed  to  the  broad- 
way  travelers  ;  but  they  were  so  busily  engaged  in  plucking 
the  flowers  sometimes  before  they  were  blown,  and  in  devour- 
ing the  fruits  often  before  they  were  ripe,  and  in  loading  them- 
selves with  yelloio  clay,  under  the  weight  of  which  millions 
perished,  that  they  had  no  time  so  much  as  to  look  at  the 
king's  directions.  Many  went  wrong  because  they  preferred 
a  merry  journey  to  a  safe  one,  and  because  they  were  terri- 
fied by  certain  notices  chiefly  intended  for  the  narrow-way 
travelers ;  such  as,  "  ye  shall  weep  and  lament,  but  the 
world  shall  rejoice ;"  but  had  these  foolish  people  allowed 
themselves  time  or  patience  to  read  to  the  end,  which  they 
seldom  would  do,  they  would  have  seen  these  comfortable 
words  added,  "But  your  sorrow  shall  be  turned  into  joy  ;" 
also  "your  joy  no  man  taketh  from  you  ;"  an  !.  i-  thjey  that 
sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy." 

Now,  I  also  saw  in  my  dream,  that  many  travelers  who  had 
a  strong  dread  of  ending  at  the  Zand  of  Misery  walked  up  to 
the  Strait  Gate,  hoping  that  though  the  entrance  was  narrow, 
yet  if  thev  could  once  get  in,  the  road  would  widen;  but 
what  was  their  grief,  when  on  looking  more  closely  they 
saw  written  on  the  inside,  "Narrow  is  the  way  ;"  this  made 
them  take  fright;  they  compared  the  inscriptions  with 
which  the  whole  way  was  lined,  such  as.  "  Be  ye  QOf  eon- 
formed  to  this  world  ;  deny  yourselves,  lake  up  your  cross," 
with  all  the  tempting  pleasures  of  the  wilderness.  Some 
indeed  recollected  the  tine  descriptions  they  had  read  of  the 
Happy  Land,  the  Golden  City,  and  the  River  of  Pleasure, 


450  THE     STRAIT     GATE 

and  they  sighed  ;  but  then  those  joys  were  distant,  and  from 
the  faintness  of  their  light,  they  soon  got  to  think  that  what 
was  remote  might  be  uncertain,  and  while  the  present  good 
increased  in  bulk  the  distant  good  receded,  diminished,  dis- 
appeared. Their  faith  failed ;  they  would  trust  no  further 
than  they  could  see;  they  drew  back  and  got  into  the 
IJroad  Way,  taking  a  common  but  sad  refuge  in  the  num- 
ber, the  fashion,  and  the  gayety  of  their  companions.  When 
these  faint-hearted  people,  who  yet  had  set  out  well,  turned 
back,  their  light  was  quite  put  out,  and  then  they  became 
worse  than  those  who  had  made  no  attempt  to  get  in. 
"For  it  is  impossible,  that  is,  it  is  next  to  .impossible,  for 
those  who  were  once  enlightened,  and  have  tasted  of  the 
heavenly  gift,  and  the  good  word  of  God,  and  the  powers 
of  the  world  to  come,  if  they  fall  away  to  renew  them  again 
to  repentance. 

A  few  honest,  humble  travelers  not  naturally  stronger 
than  the  rest,  but  strengthened  by  their  trust  in  the  king's 
word,  came  up,  by  the  light  of  their  lamps,  and  meekly  en- 
tered in  at  the  Strait  Gate  ;  as  they  advanced  further  they 
felt  less,  heavy,  and  though  the  way  did  not  in  reality  grow 
wider,  yet  they  grew  reconciled  to  the  narrowness  of  it, 
especially  when  they  saw  the  walls  here  and  .there  studded 
with  certain  jewels  called  promises,  such  as :  "  He  that 
endureth  to  the  end  shall  be  saved  ;"  and  "  my  grace  is  suf- 
ficient for  you."  Some,  when  they  were  almost  ready  to 
faint,  were  encouraged  by  seeing  that  many  niches  in  the 
Narroio  Way  were  filled  with  statues  and  pictures  of  saints 
and  martyrs,  who  had  borne  their  testimony  at  the  stake, 
that  the  Nan-ow  Way  was  the  safe  way ;  and  these  travel- 
ers, instead  of  sinking  at  the  sight  of  the  painted  wheel  and 
gibbet,  the  sword  and  furnace,  were  animated  with  these 
words  written  under  them,  "  Those  that  wear  white  robes, 
came  out  of  great  tribulation,"  and   "  be  ye  followers  of 


AND     THE     EROAD    "WAY.  451 

those   who  through,  faith  and  patience  inherit  the   prom- 


ises." 


Iq  the  mean  time  there  came  a  great  multitude  of  travel- 
ers all  from  Laodicea ;  this  was  the  largest  party  I  had  yet 
seen  ;  these  were  neither  hot  nor  cold,  they  would  not  give 
up  future  hope,  and  they  could  not  endure  present  pain. 
So  they  contrived  to  deceive  themselves,  by  fancying  "  that 
though  they  resolved  to  keep  the  Happy  Land  in  view,  yet 
there  must  needs  be  many  different  ways  which  lead  to  it, 
no  doubt  all  equally  sure,  without  all  being  equally  rough ; 
so  they  set  on  foot  certain  little  contrivances  to  attain  the 
end  without  using  the  means,  and  softened  down  the  spirit 
of  the  king's  directions  to  fit  them  to  their  own  practice. 
Sometimes  they  would  split  a  direction,™  two,  and  only 
use  that  half  which  suited  them.  For  instance  when  they 
met  with  the  following  rule*  on  the  way-post :  "  Trust  in 
the  Lord  and  be  doing  good,"  they  would  take  the  first  half, 
and  make  themselves  easy  with  a  g#ueral  sort  of  trust,  that 
through  the  mercy  of  the  king  all  would  go  well  with  them, 
though  they  themselves  did  nothing.  And  on  the  other 
hand,  many  made  sure  that  a  i'cw  good  works  of  their  own 
would  do  their  business,  and  carry  them  safely  to  the  Hap- 
py Land,  though  they  did  not  trust  in  the  Lord,  nor  place 
any  faith  in  his  word.  So  they  took  the  second  half  of  the 
spliced  direction.  Thus  some  perished  by  a  lazy  faith,  and 
others  by  a  working  pride. 

A  large  party  of  Pharisees  now  appeared,  who  had  so 
neglected  their  lamp  that  they  did  not  see  their  way  at  all, 
though  they  fancied  themselves  to  be  full  of  light ;  they 
kepi  up  appearances  so  well  as  to  delude  others',  and  most 
effectually  to  delude  themselves  with  a  notion  that  they 
might  In-  found  in  the  right  way  at  last.  In  this  dreadful 
delusion  they  went  on  to  the  end,  and  till  they  were  finally 
plunged  in  the  dark  valley,  never  discovered  the   horrors 


452  THE     STRAIT     GATE 

which  awaited  them  on  the  dismal  shore.  It  was  remark- 
able that  while  these  Pharisees- were  ofteu  boasting  how 
bright  their  light  burned,  in  order  to  get  the  praise  of  men, 
the  humble  travelers,  whose  steady  light  showed  their  good 
works  to  others,  refused  all  commendation,  and  the  brighter 
their  light  sinned  before  men,  so  much  the  more  they  in- 
sisted that  they  ought  to  glorify  not  themselves,  but  their 
Father  which  is  in  heaven. 

I  now  set  myself  to  observe  what  was  the  particular  lot, 
molestation  and  hinderance  which  obstructed  particular 
travelers  in  their  endeavors  to  enter  in  at  the  Strait  Gate. 
J  remarked  a  huge  portly  man  who  seemed  desirous  of 
getting  in,  but  he  carried  about  him  such  a  vast  provision 
of  bags  full  of  geld,  and  had  on  so  many  rich  garments, 
which  stuffed  him  out  so  wide,  that  though  he  pushed  and 
squeezed,  like  one  who  had  really  a  mind  to  get  in,  yet  he 
could  not  possibly  do  so.  Then  I  heard  a  voice  crying, 
"  Woe  to  him  who  loadeth  himself  with  thick  clay."  The 
poor  man  felt  something  was  wrong,  and  even  went  so  far 
as  to  change  some  of  his  more  cumbersome  vanities  into 
others  which  seemed  less  bulky,  but  still  he  aud  his  pack 
were  much  too  wide  for  the  gate.  He  would  not,  how- 
ever, give  up  the  matter  so  easily,  but  began  to  throw  away 
a  little  of  the  coarser  part  of  his  baggage,  but  still  I  re- 
marked that  he  threw  away  none  of  the  vanities  which  lay 
near  his  heart.  He  tried  again,  but  it  would  not  do  ;  still 
his  dimensions  were  too  large.  He  now  looked  un  and 
read  these  words,  "  How  hardly  shall  those  who  have  riches 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God."  The  poor  man  sighed  to 
fin  1  that  it  was  impossible  to  enjoy  his  fill  of  both  worlds, 
and  "  went  away  sorrowing."  If  he  ever  afterward  cast 
a  thought  toward  the  Happy  Land,  it  was  only  to  regret 
that  the  road  which  led  to  it  was  too  narrow  to  admit  anv 
but  the  meager  children  of  want,  who  were  not  so  incum- 


AND     THE     BROAD     WAY.  .453 

bered  by  wealth  as  to  be  too  big  for  the  passage.  Had  he 
read  on,  he  would  have  seen  that  "  with  God  all  things  are 
possible." 

Another  advanced  with  much  confidence  of  success,  for 
having  little  worldly  riches  or  honor,  the  gate  did  not  seem 
so  strait  to  him.  He  got  to  the  threshold  triumphantly, 
and  seemed  to  look  back  with  disdain  on  all  that  he  was 
quitting.  He  soon  found,  however,  that  he  was  so  bloated 
with  pride,  and  stuffed  out  with  self-sufficiency,  that  he 
could  not  get  in.  Nay,  he  was  in  a  worse  way  than  the 
rich  man  just  named  ;  for  he  had  been  willing  to  throw 
away  some  of  his  outward  luggage,  whereas  this  man  re- 
fused to  part  with  a  grain  of  that  vanity  and  self-applause 
which  made  him  too  large  for  the  way.  The  sense  of  his 
own  worth  so  swelled  him  out  that  he  stuck  fast  in  the 
gateway,  and  could  neither  get  in  nor  out.  Finding  now 
that  he  must  cut  off  all  these  bisf  thougdits  of  himself,  if 
he  wished  to  be  reduced  to  such  a  size  as  to  pass  the  gate, 
he  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  it.  He  scorned  that  humility 
and  self-denial  which  might  have  shrunk  him  down  to  the 
proper  dimensions;  the  more  he  insisted  on  his  own  quali- 
fications for  entrance,  the  more  impossible  it  became  to 
enter,  for  the  bigger  he  grew.  Finding  that  he  must  be- 
come quite  another  manner  of  man  before  he  could  hope 
to  get  in,  he  gave  up  the  desire  ;  and  I  now  saw  that  though 
when  he  set  his  face  toward  the  Happy  Land  he  could  not 
get  an  inch  forward,  yet  the  instant  he  made  a  motion  to 
turn  back  into  the  world,  his  speed  became  rapid  enough, 
and  he  got  back  into  the  Broad  Way  much  sooner  than  lie 
got  out  of  it.  « 

Many,  who  for  a  time  were  brought  down  from  their 
usual  bulk  by  some  affliction,  seemed  i<>  gel  in  with  ease. 
They  now  tho'ughl  all  their  difficulties  over,  for  having  been 
surfeited  with  the  world   luring  their  late  disappointment, 


454  THE     STRAIT     GATE 

they  turned  their  backs  upon  it  willingly  enoigh,  and 
fancied  they  were  tired  of  it.  A  fit  of  sickness,  perhaps, 
which  is  very  apt  to  reduce,  had  for  a  time  brought  their 
bodies  into  subjection,  so  that  they  were  enabled  just  to  get 
in  at  the  gateway  ;  but  as  soon  as  health  and  spirit  re- 
turned, the  way  grew  narrower  and  narrower  to  them  ;  and 
they  could  not  get  on,  but  turned  short,  and  got  back  into 
the  world.  I  saw  many  attempt  to  enter  who  were  stopped 
short  by  a  large  burden  of  worldly  cares  ;  others  by  a  load  of 
idolatrous  attachments  ;  but  I  observed  that  nothing  proved 
a  more  complete  bar  than  that  vast  bundle  of  prejudices 
with  which  multitudes  were  loaded.  Others  were  fatally 
obstructed  by  loads  of  bad  habits,  which  they  would  not  lay 
down,  though  they  knew  it  prevented  their  entrance. 

Some  few,  however,  of  most  descriptions,  who  had  kept 
their  light  alive  by  craving  constant  supplies  from  the  king's 
treasury,  got  through  at  last  by  a  strength  which  they  fell 
not  to  be  their  own.  One  poor  man,  who  carried  the 
largest  buudle  of  bad  habits  I  had  seen,  could  not  get  on  a 
step  ;  he  never  ceased,  however,  to  implore  for  light  enough 
to  see  where  his  misery  lay;  he  threw  down  one  of  his 
bundles,  then  another,  but  all  to  little  purpose ;  still  he 
could  not  stir.  At  last  striving  as  if  in  agony  (which  ]g 
the. true  way  of  entering)  he  threw  down  the  heaviest  ar- 
ticle in  his  pack  ;  this  was  selfishness  ;  the  poor  fellow  felt 
relieved  at  once,  his  light  burned  brightly,  and  the  rest  of 
his  pack  was  as  nothing. 

Then  I  heard  a  great  noise  as  of  carpenters  at  work.  I 
looked  what  this  might  be,  and  saw  many  sturdy  travelers, 
who,  finding  they  were  too  bulky  to  get  through,  took  it 
into  their  heads  not  to  reduce  themselves,  but  to  widen  the 
gate  ;  they  hacked  on  this  side,  and  hewed  on  that ;  but  all 
their  hacking,  and  hewing,  and  hammering  was  to  no  pur- 
pose, they  got  their  labor  for  their  pains.     It  would  have 


AND    THE     BROAD    WAY.  455 

been  possible  for  them  to  have  reduced  themselves,  had  they 
attempted  it,  but  to  widen  the  narrow  way  was  impossible. 
What  grieved  me  most  was  to  observe  that  many  who 
had  got  on  successfully  a  good  way,  now  stopped  to  rest 
and  to  admire  their  own  progress.  While  they  were  thus 
valuing  themselves  on  their  attainments,  their  light  dimin- 
ished. While  these  were  boasting  how  far  they  had  left 
others  behind  who  had  set  out  much  earlier,  some  slower 
travelers,  whose  beginning  had  not  been  so  promising,  but 
who  had  walked  meekly  and  circumspectly,  now  outstripped 
them.  These  last  walked  not  as  though  they  had  already 
attained  ;  but  this  one  thing  they  did,  forgetting  the  things 
which  were  behind,  they  pushed  forward  to  the  mark,  for 
the  prize  of  their  high  calling.  These,  though  naturally 
weak,  yet  by  laying  aside  every  weight,  finished  the  race 
that  was  before  them.  Those  who  had  kept  their  "light 
burning,"  who  were  not  "  wise  in  their  own  conceit,"  who 
"  laid  their  help  on  one  that  is  mighty,"  who  had  chosen 
to  suffer  affliction  rather  than  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  sin 
for  a  season,"  came  at  length  to  the  Happy  Laud.  They 
had  indeed  the  Dark  and  Shadowy  Valley  to  cross,  but 
even  there  they  found  a  rod  ami  a  staff  to  comfort  them. 
Their  light  instead  of  being  put  out  by  the  -lamps  of  the 
Valley  and  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  often  burned  with  add- 
ed briofhtness.  Some  indeed  suffered  the  terrors  of  a  short 
eclipse;  but  even  then  their  light,  like  that  of  a  dark 
lantern,  was  not  put  out;  it  was  only  turned  for  a  while 
from  him  who  carried  it,  and  even  these  often  finished  their 
course  with  joy.  But  be  that  as  it  might,  the  instant  they 
peached  the  Happy  Land,  all  tears  were  wiped  from  their 
eyes,  and  the  king  himself  came  forth  and  welcomed  them 
into  his  presence,  and  put  a  crown  upon  their  heads,  with 
these  words,  "  Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant,  entei 
thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 


PARLEY,    THE     PORTER: 

SHOWING  HOW  ROBBERS  WITHOUT    CAN   NEVER   GET  INTO  A   HOUSB^ 
UNLESS   THERE   ARE   TRAITORS   WITHIN, 


There  was  once  a  certain  nobleman  who  had  a  house  or 
castle  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  great  wilderness,  but  in- 
closed in  a  garden.  Now  there  was  a  band  of  robbers  in 
the  wilderness  who  had  a  great  mind  to  plunder  and  destroy 
the  castle,  but  they  had  not  succeeded  in  their  endeavors, 
because  the  master  had  given  strict  orders  to  "  watch  with- 
out ceasing."  To  quicken  their  vigilance  he  used  to  tell 
them  that  their  care  would  soon  have  an  end  :  that  though 
the  nights  to  watch  were  dark  and  stormy,  yet  they  were 
but  few ;  the  period  of  resistance  was  short,  that  of  rest 
would  be  eternal. 

The  robbers,  however,  attacked  the  castle  in  various  ways. 
They  tried  at  every  avenue,  watched  to  take  advantage  of 
every  careless  moment ;  looked  for  an  open  door  or  a  neg- 
lected window.  But  though  they  often  made  the  bolts 
shake  aud  the  windows  rattle,  they  could  never  greatly  hurt 
the  house,  much  less  get  into  it.  Do  you  know  the  reason  ? 
It  wTas  because  the  servants  were  never  off  their  guard. 
They  heard  the  noises  plain  enough,  and  used  to  be  not  a 
little  frightened,  for  they  were  aware  both  of  the  strength 
and  perseverance  of  their  enemies.  But  what  seemed 
rather  odd  to  some  of  these  servants,  the  lord  used  to  tell 


• 


PARLEY,     THE     PORTER.  4,57 

while  they  continued  to  be  afraid  they  would  be 
safe;  and  it  passed  into  a  sort  of  proverb  in  that  family, 
"Happy  is  he  that  feareth  always."  Some  of  the  servants, 
however,  thought  this  a  contradiction. 

One  day,  when   the   master  was  going  from   home,  he 
called  his  servants  all  together,  and  spoke  to  them  as  fol- 
lows:  "I  will  not  repeat  lo  you  the  directions  I  have  so 
often  given  you  ;  they  are  all  written  down  in  the  book  of 
laws,  of  which  every  one  of  you  has  a  copy.     Remember, 
it  is  a  very  short  time  that  you  are  to  remain  in  this  castle  ; 
you  will  soon  remove  to  my  more  settled  habitation,  to  a 
more  durable  house,  not  made  with  hands.     As  that  house 
is  never  exposed  to  any  attack,  so  it  never  stands  in  need 
of  any  repair ;  for  that  country  is  never  infested  by  any 
sous  of  violence.     Here  you  are  servants ;  there  you  will 
be   princes.     But  mark   my  worsts,  and   you  will  find  the 
same  in  the  book  of  my  laws,  whether  you  will  ever  attain 
to  that  house,  will  depend  on  the  manner  in  which  you  de- 
fend yourselves  in  this.     A  stout  vigilance  for  a  short  time 
will    secure    your  certain   happiness  forever.      But  every 
thing  depends  ou  your  present  exertions.     Don't  complain 
ami  take  advantage  of  my  absence,  and   call   me   a  hard 
master,  and  grumble  that  you  are  placed  in  the  midst  of 
a  howling  wilderness  without  peace  or  security.     Say  not, 
that  you  are  exposed  to  temptations  without  any  power  to 
resist  them.     You  have  some  difficulties,  it  is  true,  but  you 
have  many  helps  and  many  comforts  to  make  this  house 
tolerable,  even  before  you  get  to  the  other.     Yours  is  not 
a  hard  service ;  and  if  it  were,  '  the  time  is  short.'     You 
have  arms  if  you  will  use  them,  and  doors  if  you  will  bar 
them,  and  strength  if  you  will  use  it.     I  would  defy  all  the 
ai tacks  of  the  robbers  without,  if  I  could  depeud  on  the 
fidelity  of  the  people  within.     U  the  thiei es  ever  get  in  and 
destroy  the  house,  it  must  be  by  the  connivance  of  one  of 

20 


458  PARLEY,  THE  PORTER. 

the  family.  For  it  is  a  standing  law  of  this  castle,  that 
mere  outward  attack  can  never  destroy  it,  if  there  be  no  con- 
senting Jtr  ait  or  within.  You  will  stand  or  fall  as  you  will 
observe  this  rule.  If  you  are  finally  happy,  it  will  be  by  my 
grace  and  favor ;  if  you  are  ruined,  it  will  be  your  own  fault." 

When  the  nobleman  had  done  speaking,  every  servant 
repeated  his  assurance  of  attachment  and  firm  allegiance  to 
his  master.  But  among  them  all,  not  one  was  so  vehement 
and  loud  in  his  professions  as  old  Parley,  the  porter.  Par- 
ley, indeed,  it  was  well  known,  was  always  talking,  which 
exposed  him  to  no  small  danger ;  for  as  he  was  the  fore- 
most to  promise,  so  he  was  the  slackest  to  perform  :  and, 
to  speak  the  truth,  though  he  was  a  civil-spoken  fellow,  his 
lord  was  more  afraid  of  him,  with  all  his  professions,  than 
he  was  of  the  rest  who  protested  less.  He  knew  that  Par- 
ley was  vain,  credulous,  and  self-sufficient ;  and  he  always 
apprehended  more  danger  from  Parley's  impertinence,  curi- 
osity, and  love  of  novelty,  than  even  from"the  stronger  vices 
of  some  of  his  other  servants.  The  rest  indeed,  seldom  got 
into  any  scrape  of  which  Parley  was  not  the  cause  in  some 
shape  or  other. 

I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  confess,  that  though  Parley 
was  allowed  every  refreshment,  and  all  the  needful  'rest 
which  the  nature  of  his  place  permitted,  yet  he  thought  it 
very  hard  to  be  forced  to  be  so  constantly" on  duty.  "Noth- 
ing but  watching,"  said  Parley.  "I  have,  to  be  sure,  many 
pleasures,  and  meat  sufficient;  and  plenty  of  chat,  in  virtue 
of  my  office,  and  I  pick  up  a  good  deal  of  news  of  the 
comers  and  goers  by  day,  but  it  is  hard  that  at  night  I  must 
watch  as  narrowly  as  a  house-dog,  and  yet  let  in  no  com- 
pany without  orders ;  only  because  there  is  said  to  be  a  few 
straggling  robbers  here  in  the  wilderness,  with  whom  my 
master  does  not  care  to  let  us  be  acquainted.  He  pretends 
to  make  us  vigilant  through  fear  of  the  robbers,  but  I  sus- 


PARLEY,  THE  PORTER.  459 

pect  it  is  only  to  make  us  mope  alone.  A  merry  companion 
and  a  mug  of  beer  would  make  the  night  pass  cheerily." 
Parley,  however,  kept  all  these  thoughts  to  himself,  or  ut- 
tered them  only  when  no  one  heard,  for  talk  he  must.  He 
began  to  listen  to  the  nightly  whistling  of  the  robbers  un- 
der the  windows  with  rather  less  alarm  than  formerly,  and 
was  sometimes  so  tired  of  watching,  that  he  thought  it  was 
even  better  to  run  the  risk  of  being  robbed  once,  than  to 
live  always  in  the  fear  of  robbers. 

There  were  certain  bounds  in  which  the  lord  allowed  his 
servants  to  walk  and  divert  themselves  at  all  proper  seasons. 
A  pleasant  garden  surrounded  the  castle,  and  a  thick  hedge 
separated  this  garden  from  the  wilderness  which  was  in- 
fested by  the  robbers ;  in  this  garden  they  were  permitted 
to  amuse  themselves.  The  master  advised  them  always  to 
keep  within  these  bounds.  "  While  you  observe  this  rule," 
said  he,  "you  will  be  safe  and  well;  and  you  will  consult 
your  own  safety  and  happiness,  as  well  as  show  your  love 
to  me,  by  not  venturing  over  to  the  extremity  of  your 
bounds;  he  who  goes  as  far  as  he  dares,  always  shows  a 
wish  to  go  further  than  he  ought,  and  commonly  does  so." 

It  was  remarkable,  that  the  nearer  these  servants  kept  to 
the  castle,  and  the  further  from  the  hedge,  the  more  uoly 
the  wilderness  appeared.  Anil  the  nearer  they  approached 
the  forbidden  bounds,  their  own  home  appeared  more  dull, 
and  the  wilderness  more  delightful.  And  this  the  master 
knew  when  he  gave  his  orders  ;  for  he  never  either  did  or 
said  any  thing  without  a  good  reason.  And  when  his 
servants  sometimes  desired  an  explanation  of  the  reason,  he 
used  to  tell  them  they  would  understand  it  when  they  came 
to  the  other  hoii.se  ;  for  it  was  one  of  the  pleasures  of  that 
house,  thai  it  would  explain  all  the  mysteries  of  this,  and 
any  little  obscurities  in  the  master's  conduct  would  be  then 
made  quite  plain. 


460  PAULEY,     THE     PORTER. 

Parley  was  the  first  who  promised  to  keep  clear  of  the 
hedge,  an  1  yet  was  often  seen  looking  as  near  as  he  durst. 
One  day  he  ventured  close  up  to  the  hedge,  put  two  or  three 
stones  one  on  another,  and  tried  to  peep  over.  He  saw  one 
of  the  robbers  strolling  as  near  as  he  could  be  on  the  for- 
bidden side.  This  man's  name  was  Mr.  Flatterwell,  a  smooth, 
civil  man,  "  whose  words  were  softer  than  butter,  having 
war  in  his  heart."     He  made  several  low  bows  to  Parley. 

Now,  Parley  knew  so  little  of  the  world,  that  he  actually 
concluded  all  robbers  must  have  an  ugly  look  which  should 
frighten  you  at  once,  and  coarse  brutal  manners  which  would 
at  first  sight  show  they  were  enemies.  He  thought,  like  a 
poor  ignorant  fellow  as  he  was,  that  this  mild,  specious  per- 
son could  never  be  one  of  the  band.  Flatterwell  accosted 
Parley  with  the  utmost  civility,  which  put  him  quite  off  his 
guard  ;  for  Parley  had  no  notion  that  he  could  be  an  enemy 
who  was  so  soft  and  civil.  For  an  open  foe  he  would  have 
been  prepared.  Parley,  however,  after  a  little  discourse 
drew  this  conclusion,  that  either  Mr.  Flatterwell  could  not 
be  one  of  the  gang,  or  that  if  he  was,  the  robbers  them- 
selves could  not  be  such  monsters  as  his  master  had  de- 
scribed, and  therefore  it  was  a  folly  to  be  afraid  of  them. 

Flatterwell  began,  like  a  true  adept  in  his  art,  by  lulling 
all  Parley's  suspicions  asleep  ;  and  instead  of  openly  abus- 
ing his  master,  which  would  have  opened  Parley's  eyes  at 
once,  he  pretended  rather  to  commend  him  in  a  general  way, 
as  a  person  who  meant  well  himself,  but  was  too  apt  to  sus- 
pect others.  To  this  Parley  assented.  The  other  then  ven- 
tured to  hint  by  degrees,  that  though  the  nobleman  might 
be  a  good  master  in  the  main,  yet  he  must  say  he  was  a 
little  strict,  and  a  little  stingy,  and  not  a  little  censorious. 
That  he  was  blamed  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  wilderness  for 
shutting  his  house  against  good  company,  and  his  servants 
were  laughed  at  by  people  of  spirit  for  submitting  to  the 


PARLEY,  THE  PORTER.  461 

gloomy  life  of  the  castle,  and  the  insipid  pleasures  of  the 
garden,  instead  of  ranging  in  the  wilderness  at  large. 

"  It  is  true  enough,"  said  Parley,  who  was  generally  of 
the  opinion  of  the  person  he  was  talking  with,  "  my  master 
is  rather  harsh  and  close.  But  to  own  the  truth,  all  the 
barring,  and  locking,  and  bolting,  is  to  keep  out  a  set  of 
gentlemen,  who  he  assures  us  are  robbers,  and  who  are 
waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  destroy  us.  I  hope  no  offense, 
sir,  but  by  your  livery  I  suspect  you,  sir,  are  one  of  the 
gang  he  is  so  much  afraid  of." 

Flatterwell.  Afraid  of  me  ?  Impossible,  dear  Mr.  Parley. 
You  see,  I  do  not  look  like  an  enemy.  I  am  unarmed ; 
what  harm  can  a  plain  man  like  me  do  ? 

Parley.  Why,  that  is  true  enough.  Yet  my  master  says, 
if  we  were  to  let  you  into  the  house,  we  should  be  ruined 
soul  and  body. 

Flattenvdl.  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Parley,  to  hear  so  sensihle  a 
man  as  you  are,  so  deceived.  This  is  mere  prejudice.  He 
knows  we  are  cheerful  entertaining  people,  foes  to  gloom 
and  superstition,  and  therefore  he  is  so  morose  he  will  not 
let  you  get  acquainted  with  us. 

Parley.  Well  ;  he  says  you  are  a  ban:!  of  thieves,  gam- 
blers, murderers,  drunkards,  and  atheists. 

Flatterwell.  Don't  believe  him ;  the  worst  we  should  do, 
perhaps  is,  we  might  drink  a  friendly  glass  with  you  to  your 
master's  health,  or  play  an  innocent  game  of  cards  just  to 
keep  you  awake,  or  sing  a  cheerful  song  with  the  maids  ; 
now  is  there  any  harm  in  all  this  .' 

Parley.  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  Ami  I  begin  to 
think  there  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  all  my  master  says. 

Flatterwell.  The  more  you  know  us,  the  more  yon  will 
like  us.  But  I  wish  there  was  not  this  ugly  hedge  between 
us.  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say,  and  I  am  afraid  of  being 
overheard. 


462  PARLEY,   THE  PORTER. 

Parley  was  now  just  going  to  give  a  spring  over  the 
hedge;  but  checked  himself,  saying,  "I  dare  not  come  on 
yonr  side,  there  are  people  aboul,  and  every  thing  is  carried 
to  the  master."  Flatterwell  saw  by  this  that  his  new  friend 
was  kept  on  his  own  side  of  the  hedge  by  fear  rather  than 
by  principle,  aud  from  that  moment  he  made  sure  *>f  him. 
"Dear  Mr.  Parley,"  said  he,  "if  you  will  allow  me  the 
honor  of  a  little  conversation  with  you,  I  will  call  under  the 
window  of  your  lodge  this  evening.  I  have  something  to 
tell  you  greatly  to  your  advantage.  I  admire  you  exceed- 
ingly. I  long  for  your  friendship  ;  our  whole  brotherhood 
is  ambhious  of  being  known  to  so  amiable  a  person."  "  O 
dear,"  said  Parley,  "I  shall  be  afraid  of  talking  to  you  at 
night.  It  is  so  against  my  master's  orders.  But  did  you 
say  you  had  something  to  tell  me  to  my  advantage  ?" 

Flatterwell.  Yes,  I  can  point  out  to  you  how  you  may  be 
a  richer,  a  merrier,  aud  a  happier  man.  If  you  will  admit 
me  to-night  under  the  window,  I  will  convince  you  that  it 
is  prejudice  and  not  wisdom,  which  makes  your  master  bar 
his  door  ag.inst  us  ;  I  will  convince  you  that  the  mischief 
of  a  robber,  i  s  your  master  scurrilously  calls  us,  is  only  in 
the  name ;  th  t  we  are  your  true  friends,  and  only  mean  to 
promote  your  happiness. 

"  Don't  say  w  ,"  said  Parley,  "pray  come  alone  ;  I  would 
not  see  the  rest  of  the  gang  for  the  world  ;  but  I  think 
there  can  be  no  g<jeat  harm  in  talking  to  you  through  the 
bars,  if  you  come  alone ;  but  I  am  determined  not  to  let 
you  in.  Yet  I  can't  say  but  I  wish  to  know  what  you  can 
tell  me  so  much  to  my  advantage  ;  indeed,  if  it  is  for  my 
gO(  d  I  ought  to  know  it." 

Flatterwell.  (goiuj/  out,  turns  back.)  Dear  Mr.  Parley, 
there  is  one  thing  I  had  forgotten.  I  can  not  get  over  the 
hedge  at  night  without  assistance.  You  know  there  is  a 
secret  in  the  nature  of  that  hedge ;  you  in  the  house  may 


PARLEY,     THE     PORTER.  463 

get  over  it,  into>the  wilderness  of  your  own  accord,  but  we 
can  not  get  to  your  side  by  our  own  strength.  You  must 
look  about  to  see  where  the  hedge  is  thinnest,  and  then  set 
to  work  to  clear  away  here  and  there  a  little  bough  for  me, 
?t  won't  be  missed ;  and  if  there  is  but  the  smallest  hole 
made  on  your  side,  those  on  ours  can  get  through,  other- 
wise we  do  but  labor  in  vain.  To  this  Parley  made  some 
objection,  through  the  fear  of  being  seen.  Flatterwell  re- 
plied, that  the  smallest  hole  from  within  would  be  sufficient, 
for  he  could  then  work  his  own  way.  "  Well,"  said  Parley, 
"  I  will  consider  of  it.  To  be  sure  I  shall  even  then  be 
equally  safe  in  the  castle,  as  I  shall  have  all  the  bolts,  bars,- 
and  locks  between  us,  so  it  will  make  but  little  difference." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Flatterwell,  who  knew  it  would 
make  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  So  they  parted  with 
mutual  protestations  of  regard.  Parley  went  home  charmed 
with  his  new  friend.  His  eyes  were  now  clearly  opened  as 
to  his  master's  prejudices  against  the  ro'ibers,  and  he  was 
convinced  there  was  more  in  the  name  than  in  the  thinsr. 
"But,"  said  he,  "  though  Mr.  Flatterwell  is  certainly  an 
agreeable  companion,  he  may  not  be  so  safe  an  inmate. 
There  can,  however,  be  no  harm  in  talking  at  a  distance, 
and  I  certainly  won't  let  him  in." 

Parley,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  did  no*  forget  his  prom- 
ise to  thin  the  hedge  of  separation  a  little.  At  first  he 
only  tore  oil'  a  handful  of  Leaves,  then  a  little  sprig,  then  he 
broke  away  a  bough  or  two.  It  was  observable,  the  larger 
the  branch  became,  the  worse  lie  began  to  think  of  Ins 
master,  and  the  better  of  himself.  Every  peep  he  took 
through  the  broken  !:■■  Ige  increased  hi  ■  t  out  into 

the  wilderness,  and  made  (he  thoughts  <»i  the  castle  mo 
irksome  to  him.     He  was  continually  repeating  i"  himself, 
''1  wonder  what  Mr.  Flatterwell  can  have  to  say  s. .  much  to 
my  advantage  ?    I  see  he  does  not  wish  to  hurt  my  master, 


464  PARLEY,  THE  PORTER. 

he  only  wishes  to  serve  me."  As  the  hour  of  meeting, 
however,  drew  near,  the  master's  orders  now  and  then  came 
across  Parley's  thoughts.  So  to  divert  them,  he  took  up 
the  book.  He  happened  to  open  it  at  these  words  :  "  My 
son,  if  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not."  For  a  mo- 
ment his  heart  failed  him.  "  If  this  admonition  should  be 
sent  on  purpose  ?"  said  he ;  but  no,  'tis  a  bugbear.  My 
master  told  me  that  if  I  went  to  the  bounds  I  should  get 
over  the  hedge.  Now  I  went  to  the  utmost  limits,  and  did 
not  get  over.  Here  conscience  put  in  :  "  Yes,  but  it  was  be- 
cause you  were  watched."  "  I  am  sure,"  continued  Parley, 
"  one  may  always  stop  where  one  will,  and  this  is  only  a 
trick  of  my  master's  to  spoil  sport.  So  I  will  even  hear 
what  Mr.  Flatterwell  has  to  say  so  much  to  my  advantage. 
I  am  not  obliged  to  follow  his  counsels,  but  there  can  be  no 
harm  in  hearing  them." 

Flatterwell  prevailed  on  the  rest  of  the  robbers  to  make 
no  public  attack  on  the  castle  that  night.  "  My  brethren," 
said  he,  "  you  now  and  then  fail  in  your  schemes,  because 
you  are  for  violent  beginnings,  while  my  smooth,  insinuat- 
ing measures  hardly  ever  miss.  You  come  blustering  and 
roaring,  and  frighten  people,  and  set  them  on  their  guard. 
You  inspire  them  with  terror  of  you,  while  my  whole 
scheme  is  to  make  them  think  well  of  themselves,  and  ill 
of  their  master.  If  I  once  get  them  to  entertain  hard 
thoughts  of  him,  and  high  thoughts  of  themselves,  my  bus- 
iness is  done,  and  they  fall  plump  into  my  snares.  So  let 
this  delicate  affair  alone  to  me  :  Parley  is  a  softly  fellow,  he 
must  not  be  frightened,  but  cajoled.  He  is  the  very  sort  of 
a  man  to  succeed  with  ;  and  worth  a  hundred  of  your  stur- 
dy, sensible  fellows.  With  them  we  want  strong  arguments 
and  strong  temptations  ;  but  with  such  fellows  as  Parley, 
in  whom  vanity  and  sensuality  are  the  leading  qualities  (as, 
let  me  tell  you,  is  the  case  with  far  the  greater  part)  flat- 


PARLEY,  THE  PORTER.  4G5 

tery  and  a  promise  of  ease  and  pleasure,  will  do  more  than 
your,  whole  battle  arrray.  If  you  will  let  me  mauage,  I  will 
get  you  all  into  the  castle  before  midnight." 

At  night  the  castle  was  barricadoed  as  usual,  and  no  one 
had  observed  the  hole  which  Parley  had  made  in  the  hedge. 
This  oversight  arose  that  night  from  the  servants'  neglect.- 
ing  one  of  the  master's  standing  orders — to  make  a  nightly 
examination  of  the  state  of  thing's.  The  neglect  did  not 
proceed  so  much  from  willful  disobedience,  as  from  having 
passed  the  evening  in  sloth  and  diversion,  which  often 
amounts  to  nearly  the  same  in  its  consequences. 

As  all  was  very  cheerful  within,  so  all  was  very  quiet 
without.  And  before  they  went  to  bed,  some  of  the  serv- 
ants observed  to  the  rest,  that  as  they  heard  no  robbers  tli.it 
night,  they  thought  they  might  now  begin  to  remit  some- 
thing of  their  diligence  in  boltiug  and  barring  :  that  all  this 
fastening  and  locking  was  very  troublesome,  and  they  hoped 
the  clanger  was  now  pretty  well  over.  It  was  rather  re- 
markable, that  they  never  made  these  sort  of  observations,  but 
after  an  evening  of  some  excess,  and  when  they  had  neglected 
their  private  business  with  their  master.  All,  however,  ex- 
cept Parley,  went  quietly  to  bed,  and  seemed  to  feel  uncom- 
mon security. 

Parley  crept  down  to  his  lodge,  lie  had  half  a  mind  to 
go  to  bed  too.  Yet  he  was  not  willing  to  disappoint  Mr. 
Flatterwell.  So  civil  a  gentleman  !  To  be  sure  he  might 
have  had  bad  designs.  Yet  what  right  had  he  to  suspect 
any  body  who  made  such  professions,  and  who  was  so  very 
civil  ?  "  Besides,  it  is  something  for  my  advantage,"  added 
Parley.  "I  will  not  open  the  door,  that  is  certain  ;  but  ■  - 
he  is  to  come  alone,  he  can  do  me  no  harm  through  the 
bars  of  the  windows:  and  he  will  think  I  am  a  coward  if  I 
don't  keep  my  word.  No,  I  will  let  him  see  thai  I  am  not 
afraid  of  my  own  strength ;  I  will  show  him  I  can  go  what 

20* 


466  PARLEY,  THE  PORTER. 

length  I  please,  and  stop  short  when  I  please."  Had  Flat- 
terwell  heard  this  boastful  speech,  he  would  have  been  quite 
sure  of  bis  man. 

About  eleven,  Parley  heard  the  signal  agreed  upon.  It 
was  so  gentle  as  to  cause  little  alarm.  So  much  the  worse. 
Flatter  well  never  frightened  any  one,  and  therefore  seldom 
failed  of  any  one.  Parley  stole  softly  down,  planted  him- 
self at  his  little  window,  opened  the  casement,  and  spied  his 
new  friend.  It  was  pale  starlight.  Parley  was  a  little 
frightened  ;  for  he  thought  he  perceived  one  or  two  persons 
belaud  Flatterwell ;  but  the  other  assured  him  it  was  only 
his  own  shadow,  which  his  fears  had  magnified  into  a  com- 
pany. "Though  I  assure  you,"  said  he,  "  I  have  not  a 
friend  but  what  is  as  harmless  as  myself." 

They  now  entered  into  serious  discourse,  in  which  Flat- 
terwell showed  himself  a  deep  politician.  He  skillfully 
mixed  up  in  his  conversation  a  proper  proportion  of  praise 
on  the  pleasures  of  the  wilderness,  of  compliments  to  Par- 
ley, of  ridicule  on  his  master,  and  of  abusive  sneers  on  the 
book  in  which  the  master's  laws  were  written.  Against 
this  last  he  had  always  a  particular  spite,  for  he  considered 
it  as  the  graud  instrument  by  which  the  lord  maintained  his 
servants  in  their  allegiance  ;  and  when  they  could  once  be 
brought  to  sneer  at  the  book  there  was  an  end  of  submis- 
sion  to  the  lord.  Parley  had  not  penetration  enough  to  see 
his  drift.  "As  to  the  book,  Mr.  Flatterwell,"  said  he,  "I 
do  not  know  whether  it  be  true  or  false.  I  rather  neglect 
than  disbelieve  it.  I  am  forced,  indeed,  to  hear  it  read  once 
a  week,  but  I  never  look  into  it  myself,  if  I  can  help  it.' 
"Excellent,"  said  Flatterwell  to  himself,  "  that  is  just  the 
same  thing.  This  is  safe  ground  for  me.  For  whether  a 
man  does  not  believe  in  the  book,  or  does  not  attend  to  it, 
it  comes  pretty  much  to  the  same,  and  I  generally  get  him 
at  last." 


THE     PORTER.  407 

"  Why  can  not  we  be  a  little  nearer,  Mr.  Parley,"  said 
Flatterwell ;  "  I  am  afraid,  of  being  overheard  by  some  of 
your  master's  spies.  The  window  from  which  you  speak  is 
so  high ;  I  wish  you  would  come  down  to  the  door." 
"  Well,"  said  Parley,  "  I  see  no  great  harm  iu  that.  There 
is  a  little  wicket  in  the  door  through  which  we  may  con- 
verse with  more  ease  and  equal  safety.  The  same  fastenings 
will  be  still  between  us."  So  down  he  went,  but  not  with- 
out a  deoree  of  fear  and  trembling.  The  little  wicket  being: 
now  opened,  and  Flatterwell  standing  close  on  the  outside 
of  the  door,  they  conversed  with  great  ease.  "  Mr.  Parley," 
said  Flatterwell,  "  I  should  not  have  pressed  you  so  much 
to  admit  me  into  the  castle,  but  out  of  pure  disinterested 
regard  to  your  own  happiness.  I  shall  get  nothing  by  it, 
put  I  can  not  bear  to  think  that  a  person  so  wise  and  ami- 
able should  be  shut  up  in  this  gloomy  dungeon,  under  a 
hard  master,  and  a  slave  to  the  unreasonable  tyranny  of 
his  book  of  laws.  If  you  admit  me,  you  need  have  no 
more  waking,  no  more  watching."  Here  Parley  involunta- 
rily slipped  back  the  bolt  of  the  door.  "  To  convince  you 
of  my  true  love,"  continued  Flatterwell,  vi  L  have  brought  a 
bottle  of  the  most  delicious  wine  that  grows  in  the  wilder- 
ness. You  shall  taste  it,  hut  you  must  put  a  glass  through 
the  wicket  to  receive  it,  for  it  is  a  singular  property  of  this 
wine,  that  wo  of  the  wilderness  can  not  succeed  in  convey- 
ing it  to  you  of  the  castle,  without  you  hold  out  a  vessel  to 
receive  it."  "  0  here  is  a  glass,"  said  Parley,  holding  out  a 
large  goblet,  which  he  always  kept  ready  to  be  filled  by  any 
chance-comer.  The  other  immediately  poured  into  the 
capacious  goblet  a  large  draught  of  that  delicious  intoxi- 
eating  liquor,  with  which  the  family  of  the  Flatterwells  have 
for  neai'  six  thousand  \  ea  's  g  lined  the  hearts,  and  destroj  i  1 
the  souls  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  castle,  whenever  they 
have  been  able  to  prevail  on  them  to  hold  out  a  hand  to  re- 


468  PARLEY,  THE  PORTER. 

ceive  it.  This  the  wise  master  of  the  castle  well  knew 
would  he  the  case,  for  he  knew  what  was  in  men ;  he  knew 
their  propensity  to  receive  the  delicious  poison  of  the  Flat- 
terwells ;  and  it  was  for  this  reasoa  that  he  gave  them  the 
book  of  his  laws,  and  planted  the  hedge  and  invented  the 
bolts,  and  doubled  the  lock. 

As  soon  as  poor  Parley  had  swallowed  the  fatal  draught, 
it  acted  like  enchantment.  He  at  once  lost  all  power  of 
resistance.  He  had  no  sense  of  fear  left.  He  despised  his 
own  safety,  forgot  his  master,  lost  all  sight  of  the  home  in 
the  other  country,  and  reached  out  for  another  draught  as 
eagerly  as  Flatterwell  held  out  the  bottle  to  administer  it. 
"What  a  fool  have  I  been,"  said  Parley,  "  to  deny  myself 
so  long!"  "Will  you  now  let  me  in  ?"  said  Flatterwell. 
"Ay,  that  I  will,"  said  (he  deluded  Parley.  Though  the' 
train  was  now  increased  to  near  a  hundred  robbers,  yet  so 
intoxicated  was  Parley,  that  he  did  not  see  one  of  them  ex- 
cept his  new  friend.  Parley  eagerly  pulled  down  the  bars, 
drew  back  the  bolts  and  forced  open  the  locks  ;  thinking 
he  could  never  let  in  his  friend  soon  enough.  He  had, 
however,  just  presence  of  mind  to  say,  "My  dear  friend  I 
hope  you  are  alone."  Flatterwell  swore  he  was — Parley 
opened  the  door — in  rushed,  not  Flatterwell  only,  but  the 
whole  banditti,  who  always  lurked  behind  in  his  train. 
The  moment  they  had  got  sure  possession,  Flatterwell 
changed  his  soft  tone,  and  cried  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
"  Down  with  the  castle  ;  kill,  burn,  and  destroy." 

Rapine,  murder,  and  conflagration,  by  turns  took  place. 
Parley  was  the  very  first  whom  they  attacked.  He  was 
overpowered  with  wounds.  As  he  fell  he  cried  out,  "  O  my 
master,  I  die  a  victim  to  my  unbelief  in  thee,  and  to  my 
own  vanity  and  imprudence.  O  that  the  guardians  of  all 
other  castles  would  hear  me  with  my  dying  breath  repeat 
my  master's  admonition,  that  all  attacks  from  without  will 


THE     PORTER.  4G9 

not  destroy  unless  there  is  some  confederate  toithin.  0  that 
the  keepers  of  all  other  castles  would  learn  from  my  ruin, 
that  he  who  parleys  with  temptation  is  already  undone. 
That  he  who  allows  himself  to  go  to  the  very  bounds  will 
soon  jump  over  the  hedge  ;  that  he  who  talks  out  of  the  win- 
dow with  the  enemy,  will  soon  open  the  door  to  hi  n  :  that 
he  who  holds  out  his  hand  for  the  cup  of  sinful  flattery, 
loses  ail  power  of  resisting;  that  when  he  opens  the  door 
to  one  sin,  all  the  rest  fly  in  upon  him,  and  the  man  perish- 
es as  I  now  do." 


THE    GRAND    ASSIZES,    ETC.; 

OR,  GENERAL  JAIL  DELIVERY. 


There  was  in  a  certain  country  a  great  king,  who  was 
also  a  judge,  lie  was  very  merciful,  but  he  was  also  very 
just ;  for  he  used  to  say,  that  justice  was  the  foundation  of 
all  goodness,  and  that  indiscriminate  and  misapplied  mercy 
was  in  fact  injustice.  His  subjects  were  apt  enough,  in  a 
general  way,  to  extol  his  merciful  temper,  and  especially 
those  subjects  who  were  always  committing  crimes  which 
made  them  particularly  liable  to  be  punished  by  his  justice. 
This  last  quality  they  constantly  kept  out  of  sight,  till  they 
had  cheated  themselves  into  a  notion  that  he  was  too  good 
to  punish  at  all. 

Now  it  had  happened  a  long  time  before,  that  this  whole 
people  had  broken  their  allegiance,  and  had  forfeited  the 
king's  favor,  and  had  also  fallen  from  a  very  prosperous 
state  in  which  he  had  originally  placed  them,  having  one 
and  all  become  bankrupts.  But  when  they  were  over  head 
and  ears  in  debt,  and  had  nothing  to  pay,  the  king's  son 
most  generously  took  the  whole  burden  of  their  debts  on 
himself;  and,  in  short,  it  was  proposed  that  all  their  affairs 
should  be  settled,  and  their  very  crimes  forgiven  (for  they 
were  criminals  as  well  as  debtors),  provided  only  they  would 
show  themselves  sincerely  sorry  for  what  they  had  done 
themselves,  and  be  thankful  for  what  had  been   done  for 


THE     GRAND     ASSIZES,     ETC.  471 

them.  I  should,  however,  remark,  that  a  book  was  also 
given  them,  in  which  a  true  and  faithful  account  of  their 
own  rebellion  was  written  ;  and  of  the  manner  of  obtain- 
ing the  king's  pardon,  together  with  a  variety  of  directions 
for  their  conduct  in  time  to  come  ;  and  in  this  book  it  was 
particularly  mentioned,  that  after  having  lived  a  certain 
number  of  years  in  a  remote  part  of  the  same  king's  coun- 
try, yet  still  under  his  eye  and  jurisdiction,  there  should  be 
a,  grand  assizes,  when  every  one  was  to  be  publicly  tried 
for  his  past  behavior  ;  and  after  this  trial  was  over,  certain 
heavv  punishments  were  to  be  inflicted  on  those  who  should 
have  still  persisted  in  their  rebellion,  and  certain  high  pre- 
miums were  to  be  bestowed  as  a  gracious  reward  upon  the 
penitent  and  obedient. 

It  may  be  proper  here  to  notice,  that  this  king's  court 
differed  in  some  respect  from  our  courts  of  justice,  being 
in.leed  a  sort  of  court  of  appeal,  to  which  questions  were 
carried  after  they  had  been  imperfectly  decided  in  the  com- 
mon courts  !  And  although  with  us  all  criminals  are  tried 
(and  a  most  excellent  mode  of  trial  it  is)  by  a  jury  of  their 
peers,  yet  in  this  king's  country  the  mode  was  very  differ- 
ent ;  fof  since  every  one  of  the  people  hail  been  in  a  certain 
sense  criminals,  the  kin--  did  not  think  it  fair  to  make  them 
judges  also.     It  would,  indeed,  have  been  impossible  to 

follow  in  all  res] ts  the  customs  which  prevail  with  us,  for 

the  crimes  with  which  men  are  charged  in  our  courts  are 
mere  overt  acts,  as  the  lawyers  call  them,  thai  is,  acts  which 
regard  the  outward  behavior;  such  as  the  acts  of  striking, 
maiming,  stealing,  and  so  forth.  But  in  this  king's  court 
it  was  not  merely  outward  sins,  hut  si  is  of  the  heart  also 
which  were  to  he  punished.  Many  a 
which  was  never  heard  of  in  the  courl  of  K  Bench,  or 

at  the  Old  Bailey,  and  which  indeed  could  not  he  cogniza- 
ble by  these  courts,  was  here  to  be  brought   to  light,  and 


472  THE     GRAND     ASSIZES,     ETC.; 

was  reserved  for  this  great  day.  Among  these  were  pride, 
and  oppression,  and  envy,  and  malice,  and  revenge,  and 
covetousness,  and  secret  vanity  of  mind,  and  evil  thoughts 
of  all  sorts,  and  all  sinful  wishes  and  desires.  When  covet- 
ousness, iudeed,  put  men  on  committing  robbery,  or  wheii 
malice  drove  them  to  acts  of  murder,  then  the  common 
courts  immediately  judged  the  criminal,  without  waiting  for 
these  great  assizes ;  nevertheless,  since  even  a  thief  and 
murderer  would  now  and  then  escape  in  the  common 
courts,  for  want  of  evidence,  or  through  some  fault  or  other 
of  the  judge  or  jury,  the  escape  was  of  little  moment  to  the 
poor  criminal,  for  he  was  sure  to  be  tried  again  by  this  great 
king  ;  and  even  though  the  man  should  have  been  punished 
in  some  sense  before,  yet  he  had  now  «i  further  and  more 
lasting  punishment  to  fear,  unless,  indeed,  he  was  one  of  those 
who  had  obtained  (by  the  means  I  before  spoke  of)  this 
great  king's  pardon.  The  sins  of  the  heart,  however,  were  by 
far  the  most  numerous  sort  of  sins,  which  were  to  come  be- 
fore this  great  tribunal ;  and  these  were  to  be  judged  by  this 
great  king  in  person,  and  by  none  but  himself;  because  he 
alone  possessed  a  certain  power  of  getting  at  all  secrets. 

I  once  heard  of  a  eertain  king  of  Sicily,  who  built  a 
whispering  gallery  in  the  form  of  an  ear,  through  which 
he  could  hear  every  word  his  rebellious  subjects  uttered, 
though  spoken  ever  so  low.  But  this  secret  of  the  king  of 
Sicily  was  nothing  to  what  this  great  king  possessed  ;  for 
he  had  the  power  of  knowing  every  thought  which  was 
conceived  in  the  mind,  though  it  never  broke  out  into 
words,  or  proceeded  to  actions. 

Now  you  may  be  ready  to  think,  perhaps,  that  these 
people  were  worse  off  than  any  others,  because  they  were 
to  be  examined  so  closely,  and  judged  so  strictly.  Far  from 
it ;  the  king  was  too  just  to  expect  bricks  without  givi-.g 
them  straw  ;  he  gave  them,  therefore,  every  help  that  ti»vo 


OR,     GENERAL    JAIL     DELIVERY.  473 

needed.  He  gave  them  a  book  of  directions,  as  I  before 
observed  ;  and  because  they  were  naturally  short-sighted, 
he  supplied  them  with  a  glass  for  reading  it,  and  thus  the 
most  dim-sighted  might  see,  if  they  did  not  willfully  shut 
their  eyes  :  but  though  the  king  invited  them  to  open  their 
eyes,  he  did  not  compel  them  ;  and  many  remain  stone 
blind  all  their  lives  with  the  book  in  their  hand,  because 
they  would  not  use  the  glass,  nor  take  the  proper  means 
for  reading  and  understanding  all  that  was  written  for  them. 
The  humble  and  sincere  learned  in  time  to  see  even  that 
part  of  the  book  which  was  least  plainly  written  ;  and  it 
was  observed  that  the  ability  to  understand  it  depended 
more  ou  the  heart  than  the  head  ;  an  evil  disposition 
blinded  the  sight,  while  humility  operated  like  an  eye- 
salve. 

Now  it  happened  that  those  who  had  been  so  lucky  as 
to  escape  the  punishment  of  the  lower  courts,  took  it  into 
their  heads  that  they  were  all  very  good  sort  of  people,  an  1 
of  course  very  safe  from  any  danger  at  this  great  assize. 
This  grand  intended  trial,  indeed,  had  been  talked  of  so 
much,  and  put  off  so  long  (for  it  had  seemed  long  at  least 
to  these  short-sighted  people)  that  many  persuaded  theuv 
selves  it  would  never  take  place  at  all ;  and  far  the  greater 
part  were  living  away  therefore,  without  ever  thinking 
about  it ;  they  went  on  just  as  if  nothing  at  all  had  bet  n 
done  for  their  benefit;  and  as  it'  they  had  no  king  to 
please,  no  king's  son  to  be  thankful  to,  no  book  to  guide, 
themselves  by,  and  as  if  the  assizes  were  never  to  come 
about. 

]>ut  with  this  king  a  tkousnid  years  lucre  as  a  day,  for 
he  was  not  slack  concerning  I/is  promises,  as  some  men  count 
slackness.  So  at  length  the  solemn  period  approached. 
Still,  however,  the  people  did  not  prepare  for  the  solemnity, 
or  rather,  they  prepared  for  it  much  as  some  of  the  people 


474 


THE     GRAND     ASSIZES,     ETC.; 


of  our  provincial  towns  are  apt  to  prepai'e  for  the  annual 
assize  times ;  I  mean  by  balls  and  feastiogs,  and  they  saw 
their  own  trial  come  on  with  as  little  concern  as  is  felt  by 
the  people  in  our  streets  when  they  see  the  judge's  proces- 
sion enter  the  town  ;  they  indeed  comfort  themselves  that 
it  is  only  those  in  the  prisons  who  are  guilty. 

But  when  at  last  the  day  came,  and  every  man  found 
that  he  was  to  be  judged  for  himself;  and  that  somehow 
or  other,  all  his  secrets  were  brought  out,  and  that  there 
was  now  no  escape,  not  even  a  short  reprieve,  things  began 
to  take  a  more  serious  turn.  Some  of  the  worst  of  the 
criminals  were  got  together  debating  in  an  outer  court  of 
the  grand  hall;  and  there  they  passed  their  time,  not  in 
compunction  and  tears,  not  in  comparing  their  lives  with 
what  was  required  in  that  book  which  had  been  given 
them,  but  they  derived  a  fallacious  hope  by  comparing 
themselves  with  such  as  had  been  still  more  notorious  of- 
fenders. 

One  who  had  grown  wealthy  by  rapine  and  oppression, 
but  had  contrived  to  keep  within  the  letter  of  the  law,  in- 
sulted a  poor  fellow  as  a  thief,  because  he  had  stolen  a  loaf 
of  bread.  "  You  are  far  wickeder  than  I  was,"  said  a  citi- 
zen to  his  apprentice,  "  for  you  drank  and  swore  at  the  ale- 
house every  Sunday  night."  "  Yes,"  said  the  poor  fellow, 
"  but  it  was  your  fault  that  I  did  so,  for  you  took  no  care 
of  my  soul,  but  spent  all  your  Sabbaths  in  jaunting  abroad 
or  in  rioting  at  home  ;  I  might  have  learned,  but  there 
was  no  one  to  teach  me  ;  I  might  have  followed  a  good 
example,  but  I  saw  only  bad  ones.  I  sinned  against  less 
light  than  you  did."  A  drunken  journeyman  who  had 
spent  all  his  wages  on  gin,  rejoiced  that  he  had  not  spent  a 
great  estate  in  bribery  at  elections,  as  the  lord  of  his  manor 
had  done,  while  a  perjured  elector  boasted  that  he  was  nc 
drunkard  like  the  journeyman ;  and  the  member  himself 


OR,     GENERAL    JAIL    DELIVERY.  475 

took  comfort  that  lie  Lad  never  received  the  bribes  which 
he  had  not  been  ashamed  to  offer. 

I  have  not  room  to  describe  the  awful  pomp  of  the  court, 
nor  the  terrible  sounding  of  the  trumpet  which  attended 
the  judge's  entrance,  nor  the  sitting  of  the  judge,  nor  the 
opening  of  the  books,  nor  the  crowding  of  the  millions, 
who  stood  before  him.  I  shall  pass  over  the  multitudes 
who  were  tried  and  condemned  to  dungeons  and  chains, 
and  eternal  fire,  and  to  perpetual  banishment  from  the 
presence  of  the  king,  which  always  seemed  to  be  the  sad- 
dest part  of  the  sentence.  I  shall  only  notice  further,  a  few 
who  brought  some  plea  of  merit,  and  claimed  a  right  to  be 
rewarded  by  the  king,  and  even  deceived  themselves  so  far 
is  to  think  that  his  own  book  of  laws  would  be  their  justi- 
fication. 

A  thoughtless  spendthrift  advanced  without  any  contri- 
tion, and  said,  "  that  he  had  lived  handsomely,  and  had 
hated  the  covetous  whom  God  abhorreth  ;  that  he  trusted 
in  the  passage  of  the  book  which  said,  that  covetousness  was 
idolatry  ;  and  that  he  therefore  hoped  for  a  favorable  sen- 
tence." Now  it  proved  that  this  man  had  not  only  avoided 
covetousness,  but  that  he  had  even  left  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren in  want  through  his  excessive  prodigality.  The  judge 
therefore  immediately  pointed  to  that  place  in  the  book 
where  it  is  written,  he  that  provideth  not  for  his  household 
is  worse  than  an  infidel,  die  that  liveth  in  pleasure  is  dead 
while  he  liveth  ;  "  thou,''  said  he,  "  in  tin/  lifetime,  receiv- 
ed.st  thy  good  things,  and  now  thou  must  be  tormented.'1'1 
Then  a  miser,  whom  hunger  and  hoarding  had  worn  to  skin 
and  bone,  crept  forward,  and  praised  the  sentence  passed 
on  the  extravagant  youth,  "and  surely,"  said  be,  "since  he 
is  condemned,  I  am  a  man  that  may  make  some  plea  to 
favor — I  was  never  idle  or  drunk,  I  kept  my  body  in  sub- 
jection, I  have  been  so  self-denying   that  I  am  certainly  a 


4*76  THE     GRAND    ASSIZES,     ETC.; 

saint :  1  have  loved  neither  father  nor  mother,  nor  wife  nor 
children,  to  excess,  in  all  this  I  have  obeyed  the  book  of 
the  law."  Then  the  judge  said,  "  But  where  are  thy  works 
of  mercy  and  thy  labors  of  love  ?  see  that  family  which 
perished  in  thy  sight  last  hard  winter  while  thy  barns  were 
overflowing ;  that  poor  family  were  my  representatives ; 
yet  they  were  hungry,  and  thou  gavest  them  no  meat.  Go 
to,  now,  thou  rich  man,  weep  and  howl  for  the  miseries  that 
are  come  upon  you.  Your  gold  and  silver  is  cankered,  and 
the  rust  of  them  shall  be  a  witness  against  you,  and  shall 
eat  your  flesh  as  it  were  fire" 

Then  came  up  one  with  a  most  self-sufficient  air.  lie  walked 
up  boldly,  having  in  one  hand  the  plan  of  a  hospital  which 
he  had  budt,  and  in  the  other  the  drawing  of  the  statue 
which  was  erecting  for  him  in  the  country  that  he  had  just 
left,  and  on  his  forehead  appeared,  in  gold  letters,  the  list 
of  all  the  public  charities  to  which  he  had  subscribed.  He 
seemed  to  take  great  pleasure  in  the  condemnation  of  the 
miser,  and  said,  "  Lord  when  saw  I  thee  hungry  and  fed 
thee  not,  or  in  prison  and  visited  thee  not  1  I  have  visited 
the  fatherless  and  widow  in  their  affliction."  Here  the 
judge  cut  him  short,  by  saying,  "  True,  thou  didst  visit  the 
fatherless,  but  didst  thou  fulfill  equally  that  other  part  of 
my  command,  '  to  keep  thyself  unspotted  from  the  world.' 
No,  thou  wast  conformed  to  the  world  in  many  of  its  sinful 
customs,  "thou  didst  follow  a  multitude  to  do  evil;  thou 
didst  love  the  world  and  the  things  of  the  world ;  and  the 
motive  to  all  thy  charities  was  not  a  regard  to  me  but  to 
thy  own  credit  with  thy  fellow-men.  Thou  hast  done 
every  thing  for  the  sake  of  reputation,  and  now  thou  art 
vainly  trusting  in  thy  deceitful  works,  instead  of  putting  all 
thy  trust  in  my  son,  who  has  offered  himself  to  be  a  surety 
for  thee.  Where  has  been  that  humility  and  gratitude  to 
him  which  was  required  of  thee  ?     No,  thou  wouldest  be 


OR,     GENERAL     JAIL     DELIVERY.  477 

thine  own  surety:  thou  hast  trusted  in  thyself:  thou  hast 
made  thy  boast  of  thine  own  goodness ;  thou  hast  sought 
after  and  thou  hast  enjoyed  the  praise  of  men,  and  verily  I 
say  unto  thee,  '  thou  hast  had  thy  reward.'  " 

A  poor,  diseased,  blind  cripple,  who  came  from  the  very 
hospital  which  this  great  man  had  built,  then  fell  prostrate 
on  his  face,  crying  out,  "  Lord  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner  !" 
on  which  the  judge,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  said,  "Well  done, 
good  and  faithful  servant."  The  poor  mau  replied,  "Lord,  I 
have  done  nothing  !"  "  But  thou  hast  'suffered  well :'  said 
the  judge  ;  "  thou  hast  been  an  example  of  patience  aud 
meekness,  and  though  thou  hadst  but  few  talents,  yet  thou 
hast  well  improved  those  few;  thou  hadst  time,  this  thou 
didst  spend  in  the  humble  duties  of  thy  station,  and  also  in 
earnest  prayer ;  thou  didst  pray  even  for  that  proud  founder 
of  the  hospital,  who  never  prayd  for  himself;  thou  wast  in- 
deed blind  and  lame,  but  it  is  no  where  said,  My  son  give 
me  thy  feet,  or  thine  eyes,  but  Give  me  thy  heart ;  and  even 
the  few  faculties  I  did  grant  thee,  were  employed  to  my 
glory  ;  with  thine  ears  thou  didst  listen  to  my  word,  with 
thy  tongue  thou  didst  show  forth  my  praise  :  '  enter  thou 
into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord.'  " 

There  were  several  who  came  forward,  and  boasted  of 
some  single  and  particular  virtue,  in  which  they  had  been 
supposed  to  excel.  One  talked  of  his  generosity,  another 
of  his  courage,  and  a  third  of  his  fortitude;  but  it  proved 
on  a  close  examination,  that  some  of  those  supposed  virtues 
were  merely  the  effect  of  a  particular  constitution  of  body  ; 
the  others  proceeded  from  a  false  motive,  and  that  not  a 
few  of  them  were  actual  vices,  since  they  were  carried  to  ex- 
cess ;  and  under  the  pretense  of  fulfilling  one  duty,  some 
other  duty  was  lost  sight  of;  in  short,  these  partial  virtues 
were  none  of  them  practiced  in  obedienee  to  the  will  of  the 
King,  but  merely  to  please  the  person's  own  humor,  or  to 


478  THE     GRAND     ASSIZES,     ETC. 

gain  praise,  and  they  would  not,  therefore,  stand  this  day's 
trial,  for  "  lie  that  had  kept  the  whole  law,  and  yet  had  will- 
fully aud  habitually  offended  in  any  one  point,  was  declared 
guilty  of  breaking  the  whole." 

At  this  moment  a  sort  of  thick  scales  fell  from  the  eyes 
of  the  multitude.  They  could  now  no  longer  take  com- 
fort, as  they  had  done  for  so  many  years,  by  measuring  their 
neighbors'  conduct  against  their  own.  Each  at  once  saw 
himself  in  his  true  light,  and  found,  alas !  when  it  was  too 
late,  that  he  should  have  made  the  book  which  had  been 
given  him  his  rule  of  practice  before,  since  it  now  proved  to 
be  the  rule  by  which  he  was  to  be  judged.  Nay,  every  one 
now  thought  himself  even  worse  than  his  neighbor,  because, 
while  he  only  saw  and  heard  of  the  guilt  of  others,  he  felt 
his  own  in  all  its  aggravated  horror. 

To  complete  their  confusion  they  were  compelled  to  ac- 
knowledge the  justice  of  the  judge  who  condemned  them  : 
and  also  to  approve  the  favorable  sentence  by  which  thou- 
sands of  other  criminals  had  not  only  their  lives  saved,  but 
were  made  happy  and  glorious  beyond  all  imagination  ;  not 
for  any  great  merits  which  they  had  to  produce,  but  in  eon- 
sequence  of  their  sincere  repentance,  and  their  humble 
acceptance  of  the  pardon  offered  to  them  by  the  King's  son. 
One  thing  was  remarkable,  that  whilst  most  of  those  who 
were  condemned,  never  expected  condemnation,  but  even 
claimed  a  reward  for  their  supposed  innocence  or  goodness, 
all  who  were  really  rewarded  and  forgiven  wCre  sensible 
that  they  owed  their  pardon  to  a  mere  act  of  grace,  and 
they  cried  out  with  one  voice,  "  Not  unto  unto  us,  not  ua, 
but  unto  thy  name  be  the  praise  !" 


THE  SERVANT  MAN  TURNED   SOLDIER; 

OR,  THE  FAIR- WEATHER  CHRISTIAN. 


William  was  a  lively  young  servant,  who  lived  in  a  great, 
but  very  irregular  family.  His  place  was  on  the  whole 
agreeable  to  him,  and  suited  to  his  gay  and  thoughtless 
temper.  He  found  a  plentiful  table  and  a  good  cellar. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  great  deal  of  work  to  be  done,  though 
it  was  performed  with  much  disorder  and  confusion.  The 
family  in  the  main  were  not  unkind  to  him,  though  they 
often  contradicted  and  crossed  him,  especially  when  things 
went  ill  with  themselves.  This,  William  never  much  liked, 
for  he  wras  always  fond  of  having  his  own  way.  There  was 
a  merry,  or  rather  a  noisy  and  riotous  servants'  hall  ;  for 
disorder  and  quarrels  are  indeed  the  usual  effects  of  plenty 
and  unrestrained  indulgence.  The  men  were  smart,  but 
idle;  the  maids  were  showy  but  licentious,  and  all  did 
pretty  much  as  they  liked  for  a  time,  but  the  time  was  com- 
monly short.  The  wages  were  reckoned  high,  but  they 
were  seldom  paid,  and  it  was  even  said  by  sober  people, 
that  the  family  was  insolvent,  and  never  fulfilled  any  of 
their  flattering  engagements,  or  their  most  1  ositive  prom- 
ises; but  still,  notwithstanding  their  real  poverty,  things 
went  on  with  just  the  same  thoughtlessness  and  splendor, 
and  neither  master  nor  servants  looked  beyond  the  jollity 
of  the  present  hour. 


480   THE  SERVANT  MAN  TURNED  SOLDIER; 

In  this  unruly  family  there  was  little  church-going,  and 
still  less  praying  at  home.  They  preteuded,  indeed,  in  a 
general  way,  to  believe  in  the  Bible,  but  it  was  only  an  out- 
ward profession  ;  few  of  them  read  it  at  all,  and  even  of  those 
who  did  read  still  fewer  were  governed  by  it.  There  was 
indeed  a  Bible  lying  on  the  table  in  the  great  hall,  which 
was  kept  for  the  purpose  of  administering  an  oath,  but  was 
seldom  used  on  any  other  occasion,  and  some  of  the  heads 
of  the  family  were  of  opinion  that  this  was  its  only  real  use, 
as  it  might  serve  to  keep  the  lower  parts  of  it  in  order. 

William,  who  was  fond  of  novelty  and  pleasure,  was  apt 
to  be  negligent  of  the  duties  of  the  house.  He  used  to  stay 
out  on  his  errands,  and  one  of  his  favorite  amusements  was 
going  to  the  parade  to  see  the  soldiers  exercise.  He  saw 
with  envy  how  smartly  they  were  dressed,  listened  with 
rapture  to  the  music,  and  fancied  that  a  soldier  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  walk  to  and  fro  in  a  certain  regular  order,  to 
go  through  a  little  easy  exercise,  in  short,  to  live  without 
fighting,  fatigue,  or  danger. 

O,  said  he,  whenever  he  was  affronted  at  home,  what  a 
fine  thino-  it  must  be  to  be  a  soldier !  to  be  so  well  dressed, 
to  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  move  to  the  pleasant  sound 
of  fife  and  drum,  and  to  have  so  many  people  come  to  look 
at  one,  and  admire  one.  O  it  must  be  a  fine  thing  to  be  a 
soldier ! 

Yet  when  the  vexation  of  the  moment  was  over,  he  found 
so  much  ease  and  diversion  in  the  great  family,  it  was  so 
suited  to  his  low  taste  and  sensual  appetites,  that  he  thought 
no  more  of  the  mattter.  He  forgot  the  glories  of  a  soldier, 
and  eagerly  returned  to  all  the  mean  gratifications  of  the 
kitchen.  His  evil  habits  were  but  little  attended  to  by 
those  with  whom  he  lived  ;  his  faults,  among  which  were 
lying  and  swearing,  were  not  often  corrected  by  the  family, 
who  had  little  objections  to  those  sins,  which  only  offended 


OR,     THE     FAIR-WEATHER     CHRISTIAN.       481 

God  and  did  not  much  affect  their  own  interest  or  property. 
And  except  that  William  was  obliged  to  work  rather  more 
than  he  liked,  he  found  little,  while  he  was  young  and 
healthy,  that  was  very  disagreeable  in  this  service.  So  he 
went  on,  still  thinking,  however,  when  things  went  a  little 
cross,  what  a  fine  thing  it  was  to  be  a  soldier. !  At  last  one  day 
as  he  was  waitingat  dinner,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  let  fall 
a  china  dish,  and  broke  it  all  to  pieces.  It  was  a  curious 
dish,  much  valued  by  the  family,  as  they  pretended ;  this 
family  were  indeed  apt  to  set  a  false  fantastic  value  on 
things,  and  not  to  estimate  them  by  their  real  worth.  The 
heads  of  the  family,  who  had  generally  been  rather  patient 
and  good-humored  with  William,  as  I  said  before,  for  those 
vices,  which  though  offensive  to  God  did  not  touch  their 
own  pocket,  now  flew  out  into  a  violent  passion  with  him, 
called  him  a  thousand  hard  names,  and  even  threatened  to 
horsewhip  him  for  his  shameful  negligence. 

William  in  a  great  fright,  for  he  was  a  sad  coward  at  bot- 
tom, ran  directly  out  of  the  house  to  avoid  the  threatened 
punishment ;  and  happening  just  at  that  very  time  to  pass 
by  the  parade  where  the  soldiers  chanced  to  be  then  exer- 
cisiner,  his  resolution  was  taken  in  a  moment.  He  instant- 
ly  determined  to  be  no  more  a  slave,  as  he  called  it;  he 
would  return  no  more  to  be  subject  to  the  humors  of  a  ty- 
rannical family  :  no,  he  was  resolved  to  be  free  ;  or  at  least, 
if  he  must  serve,  he  would  serve  no  master  but  the  king. 

William,  who  had  now  and  then  happened  to  hear  from 
the  accidental  talk  of  the  soldiers  that  those  who  serve.  1 
the  great  family  he  had  lived  with,  were  slaves  to  their  tyr- 
anny and  vices,  had  also  heard  in  the  same  casual  man- 
ner, that  the  service  of  the  king  was  perfect  freedom. 
Now  he  hail  taken  it  into  his  head  to  hope  that  this  might 
be  a  freedom  to  do  evil,  or  at  least  to  do  nothing,  so  he 
thought  it  was  the  only  place  in  the  world  to  suit  him. 

•2\ 


482       THE     SERVANT     MAN     TURNED     SOLDIER; 

A  fine  likely  young  man  as  William  was,  had  no  great 
difficulty  to  get  enlisted.  The  few  forms  were  soon  settled, 
he  received  the  bounty  money  as  eagerly  as  it  was  offered, 
took  the  oaths  of  allegiance,  was  joined  to  the  regiment  and 
heartily  welcomed  by  his  new  comrades.  He  was  the  hap- 
piest fellow  alive.  All  was  smooth  and  calm.  The  day 
happened  to  be  very  fine,  and  therefore  "William  always 
reckoned  upon  a  fine  day.  The  scene  was  gay  and  lively, 
the  music  cheerful,  he  found  the  exercise  very  easy,  and  he 
thought  there  was  little  more  expected  from  him. 

He  soon  began  to  flourish  away  in  his  talk ;  and  when  he 
met  with  any  of  his  old  servants,  he  fell  a  prating  about 
marches  and  counter-marches,  and  blockades,  and  battles, 
and  sieges,  and  blood,  and  death,  and  triumphs,  and  victo- 
ries, all  at  random,  for  these  were  words  and  phrases  he  had 
picked  up  without  at  all  understanding  what  he  said.  He 
had  no  knowledge,  and  therefore  he  had  no  modesty  ;  he  had 
no  experience,  and  therefore  he  had  no  fears. 

All  seemed  to  go  on  swimmingly,  for  he  had  as  yet  no 
trial.  He  began  to  think  with  triumph  what  a  mean  life 
he  had  escaped  from  in  the  old  quarrelsome  family,  and 
what  a  happy,  honorable  life  he  should  have  in  the  army. 
O  there  was  no  life  like  the  life  of  a  soldier ! 

In  a  short  time,  however,  war  broke  out ;  his  regiment 
was  one  of  the  first  which  was  called  out  to  actual  and  hard 
service.  As  William  was  the  most  raw  of  all  the  recruits, 
he  was  the  first  to  murmur  at  the  difficulties  and  hardships, 
the  cold,  the  hunger,  the  fatigue  and  danger  of  being  a  sol- 
dier. O  what  watchings,  and  perils,  and  trials,  and  hardships, 
and  difficulties,  he  now  thought  attended  a  military  life  ! 
Surely,  said  he,  I  could  never  have  suspected  all  this  miseiy 
when  I  used  to  see  the  men  on  the  parade  in  our  town. 

He  now  found,  when  it  was  too  late,  that  all  the  field- 
days  he  used  to  attend,  all  the  evolutions  and  exercisos  which 


OR,     THE     FAIR-WEATHER     CHRISTIAN.       483 

lie  had  observed  the  soldiers  to  go  through  in  the  calm 
times  of  peace  and  safety,  were  only  meant  to  fit,  train  and 
qualify  them  for  the  actual  service  which  they  were  now 
sent  out  to  perform  by  the  command  of  the  king. 

The  truth  is,  William  often  complained  when  there  was 
no  real  hardship  to  complain  of;  for  the  common  troubles 
of  life  fell  out  pretty  much  alike  to  the  great  family  which 
William  had  left,  and  to  the  soldiers  in  the  king's  army. 
But  the  spirit  of  obedience,  discipline,  and  self-denial  of  the 
latter  seemed  hardships  to  one  of  William's  loose  turn  of 
mind.  When  he  began  to  murmur,  some  good  old  soldier 
clapped  him  on  the  back,  saying,  Cheer  up  lad,  it  is  a  king- 
dom you  are  to  strive  for,  if  we  faint  not,  henceforth  there 
is  laid  up  for  us  a  great  reward ;  we  have  the  king's  word 
for  it,  man.  William  observed,  that  to  those  who  truly  be- 
lieved this,  their  labors  were  as  nothing,  but  he  himself  did 
not  at  the  bottom  believe  it ;  and  it  was  observed,  of  all  the 
soldiers  who  failed,  the  true  cause  was  that  they  did  not 
really  believe  the  king's  promise.  lie  was  surprised  to  see 
that  those  soldiers,  who  used  to  bluster  and  boast,  and  de- 
ride the  assaults  of  the  enemy,  now  began  to  fall  away ; 
while  such  as  had  faithfully  obeyed  the  king's  orders,  and 
believed  in  his  word,  were  sustained  in  the  hour  of  trial. 
Those  who  had  trusted  in  their  own  strength  all  fainted  on 
the  slightest  attack,  while  those  who  had  put  on  the  armor 
of  the  kings  providing,  the  sword,  and  the  shield,  and  the 
helmet,  and  the  breast-plate,  and  whose  feet  were  shod  ac- 
cording to  order,  now  endured  hardship  as  good  soldiers, 
and  were  enabled  to  fio-ht  the  good  fight. 

An  engag<  tnent  was  expected  immediately.  The  men 
were  ordered  to  prepare  for  battle.  While  the  rest  of  the 
corps  were  so  preparing,  William's  whole  thoughts  were 
bent  on  contriving  how  he  might  desert.  But  alas !  he  was 
watched  on  all  sides,  he  could  ool  possibly  devise  any  means 


484   THE  SERVANT  MAN  TURNED  SOLDIER; 

to  escape.  The  danger  increased  every  moment,  the  battle 
came  on.  "William,  who  had  been  so  sure  and  confident  be- 
fore he  entered,  flinched  in  the  moment  of  trial,  while  his 
more  quiet  and  less  boastful  comrades  prepared  boldly  to 
do  their  duty.  William  looked  about  on  all  sides,  and  saw 
that  there  was  no  eye  upon  him,  for  he  did  not  know  that 
the  king's  eye  was  everywhere  at  once.  He  at  last  thought 
he  spied  a  chance  of  escaping,  not  from  the  enemy,  but 
from  his  own  army.  While  he  was  endeavoring  to  escape, 
a  ball  from  the  opposite  camp  took  off  his  leg.  As  he  fell, 
the  first  words  which  broke  from  him  were,  While  I  was  in 
my  duty  I  was  preserved  ;  in  the  very  act  of  deserting  I 
am  wounded.  He  lay  expecting  every  moment  to  be  tramp- 
led to  death,  but  as  the  confusion  was  a  little  over,  he  was 
taken  off  the  field  by  some  of  his  own  party,  laid  in  a  place 
of  safety,  and  left  to  himself  after  his  wound  was  dressed. 

The  skirmish,  for  it  proved  nothing  more,  was  soon  over. 
The  greater  part  of  the  regiment  escaped  in  safety.  Wil- 
liam in  the  mean  time  suffered  cruelly  both  in  mind  and 
body.  To  the  pains  of  a  wounded  soldier,  he  added  the 
disgrace  of  a  coward,  and  the  infamy  of  a  deserter.  O, 
cried  he,  why  was  I  such  a  fool  as  to  leave  the  great  family 
I  lived  in,  where  there  was  meat  and  drink  enough  and  to 
spare,  only  on  account  of  a  little  quarrel  ?  I  might  have 
made  up  that  with  them  as  we  had  done  our  former  quar- 
rels. Why  did  I  leave  a  life  of  ease  and  pleasure,  where  I 
had  only  a  little  rub  now  and  then,  for  a  life  of  daily  discip- 
line and  constant  danger  ?  Why  did  I  turn  soldier  ?  0 
what  a  miserable  animal  is  a  soldier ! 

As  he  was  sitting  in  this  weak  and  disabled  condition, 
uttering  the  above  complaints,  he  observed  a  venorable  old 
officer,  with  thin  gray  locks  on  his  head,  and  on  his  face, 
deep  wrinkles  engraved  by  time,  and  many  an  honest  scar 
inflicted  by  war.     William  had  heard  this  old  officer  highlv 


OK,     THE     FAIR-WEATHER     CHRISTIAN.      485 

commended  for  his  extraordinary  courage  and  conduct  in 
battle,  and  in  peace  he  used  to  see  him  cool  and  collected, 
devoutly  employed  in  reading  and  praying  in  the  interval  of 
more  active  duties.  He  could  not  help  comparing  this  off! 
cer  with  himself.  I,  said  he,  flinched  and  drew  back,  and 
would  even  have  deserted  in  the  moment  of  peril,  and  now 
in  return,  I  have  no  consolation  in  the  hour  of  repose  and 
safety.  I  would  not  fight  then,  I  can  not  pray  now.  O 
why  would  I  ever  think  of  being  a  soldier  ?  He  then  be- 
gan afresh  to  weep  and  lament,  and  he  groaned  so  loud  that 
he  drew  the  notice  of  the  officer,  who  came  up  to  him, 
kindly  sat  down  by  him,  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  in- 
quired with  as  much  affection  as  if  he  had  been  his  brother, 
what  was  the  matter  with  him,  and  what  particular  distress, 
more  than  the  common  fortune  of  war  it  was  which  drew 
from  him  such  bitter  groans?  "I  know  something  of  sur- 
gery," added  he,  "let  me  examine  your  wound,  and  assist 
you  with  such  little  comfort  as  I  can." 

William  at  once  saw  the  difference  between  the  soldiers 
in  the  king's  army,  and  the  people  in  the  great  family ;  the 
latter  commonly  withdrew  their  kindness  in  sickness  and 
trouble,  when  most  wanted,  which  was  just  the  very  time 
when  the  others  came  forward  to  assist.  He  told  the  offi- 
cer his  little  history,  the  manner  of  his  living  in  the  great 
family,  the  trifling  cause  of  his  quarreling  with  it,  tho 
slight  ground  of  his  entering  into  tho  king's  service. 
"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  quarreled  with  the  family  and  I  thought 
I  was  at  once  fit  for  the  army  :  I  did  not  know  the  qualifi- 
cations it  required.  I  had  not  reckoned  on  discipline,  ami 
hardships,  and  self-denial.  I  liked  well  enough  to  sing  a 
loyal  song,  or  drink  the  king's  health,  but  I  find  I  do  not 
relish  working  and  fighting  tor  him,  though  I  rashly  prom- 
ised even  to  lay  down  my  life  for  his  service  if  called  upon, 
when  I  took  the  bounty  money  and  the  qatb  of  allegiance, 


486   THE  SERVANT  MAN  TURNED  SOLDIER; 

In  short,  sir,  I  find  that  I  long  for  the  ease  and  sloth,  the 
merriment  and  the  feasting  of  my  old  service ;  I  find  I  can 
not  be  a  soldier,  and,  to  speak  truth,  I  was  in  the  very  act  of 
deserting  when  I  was  stopped  short  by  the  cannon-ball.  So 
that  I  feel  the  guilt  of  desertion,  and  the  misery  of  having 
lost  my  leg  into  the  bargain. 

The  officer  thus  replied  :  "  Your  state  is  that  of  every 
worldly  irreligious  man.  The  great  family  you  served  is  a 
just  picture  of  the  world.  The  wages  the  world  promises 
to  those  who  are  willing  to  do  its  work  are  high,  but  the 
payment  is  attended  with  much  disappointment ;  nay,  the 
world,  like  your  great  family,  is  in  itself  insolvent,  and  in 
its  very  nature  incapable  of  making  good  the  promises 
and  of  paying  the  high  rewards  which  it  holds  out  to  tempt 
its  credulous  followers.  The  ungodly  world,  like  your  fam- 
ily, cares  little  for  church,  and  still  less  for  prayer ;  and  con- 
siders the  Bible  rather  as  an  instrument  to  make  an  oatli  bind- 
ing, in  order  to  keep  the  vulgar  in  obedience,  than  as  containing 
in  itself  a  perfect  rule  of  faith  and  practice,  and  as  a  title-deed 
to  heaven.  The  generality  of  men  love  the  world  as  you 
did  your  service,  while  it  smiles  upon  them,  and  gives  them 
easy  work  and  plenty  of  meat  and  drink ;  but  as  soon  as  it 
begins  to  cross  and  contradict  them,  they  get  out  of  humor 
with  it,  just  as  you  did  with  your  service.  They  then  think 
its  drudgery  hard,  its  rewards  low.  They  find  out  that  it  is 
high  in  its  expectations  from  them,  and  slack  in  its  payments 
to  them.  And  they  begin  to  fancy  (because  they  do  not 
hear  religious  people  murmur  as  they  do)  that  there  must 
be  some  happiness  in  religion.  The  world,  which  takes  no 
account  of  their  deeper  sins;,  at  length  brings  them  into  dis- 
credit for  some  act  of  imprudence,  just  as  your  family  over- 
looked your  lying  and  swearing,  but  threatened  to  drub  you 
for  breaking  a  china  dish.  Such  is  the  judgment  of  the 
fork! !  it  patiently  bears  with  those  who  only  break  the 


OR,     THE     FAIR-WEATHER     CHRISTIAN.      487 

laws  of  God,' but  severely  punishes  the  smallest  negligence 
by  which  they  themselves  are  injured.  The  world  sooner 
pardons  the  breaking  ten  commandments  of  God,  than  even 
a  china  dish  of  its  own. 

"  After  some  cross  or  opposition,  worldly  men,  as  I  said 
before,  begin  to  think  how  much  content  and  cheerfulness 
they  remember  to  have  seen  in  religious  people.  They 
therefore  begin  to  fancy  that  religion  must  be  an  easy  and 
delightful,  as  well  as  a  good  thiug.  They  have  heard  that, 
her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are 
peace;  and  they  persuade  themselves,  that  by  this  is  meant 
worldly  pleasantness  and  sensual  peace.  They  resolve  at 
length  to  try  it,  to  turn  their  back  upon  the  world,  to  en- 
gage in  the  service  of  God  and  turn  Christians  ;  just  as  you 
resolved  to  leave  your  old  service,  to  enter  into  the  service 
of  the  king  and  turn  soldier.  But  as  you  quitted  your  place 
in  a  passion,  so  they  leave  the  world  in  a  lmfF.  They  do 
not  count  the  cost.  They  do  not  calculate  upon  the  darling 
sin,  the  habitual  pleasures,  the  ease,  and  vanities,  which  they 
undertake  by  their  new  engagements  to  renounce,  no  more 
than  you  counted  what  indulgences  you  were  going  to  give 
up  when  you  quitted  the  luxuries  and  idleness  of  your  place 
to  enlist  in  the  soldier's  warfare.  They  have,  as  I  said,  seen 
Christians  cheerful,  and  they  mistook  the  ground  of  their 
cheerfulness;  they  fancied  it  arose,  not  because  through 
grace  they  had  conquered  difficulties,  but  because  they  had 
no  difficulties  in  their  passage.  They  fancied  that  religion 
found  the  road  smooth,  whereas  it  only  helps  to  bear  with 
a  rough  road  without  complaint.  They  do  not  know 
that  these  Christians  are  of  good  cheer,  not  because  the 
world  is  free  from  tribulation,  but  because  Chris!,  their  cap- 
tain, has  overcome  the  world.  But  the  irreligous  man,  who 
has  only  seen  the  outside  of  a  Christian  in  his  worldly  in- 
tercourse, knows  little  of  his  secret  conlliets,  his  trials,  his 


488      THE     SERVANT     MAN     TURNED     SOLDIER; 

self-denials,  his  warfare  with  the  world  without ;  and  with 
his  own  corrupt  desires  within. 

"  The  irreligious  man  quarrels  with  the  world  on  some 
such  occasion  as  you  did  with  your  place.  He  now  puts  on 
the  outward  forms  and  ceremonies  of  religion,  and  assumes 
the  badge  of  Christianity,  just  as  you  were  struck  with  the 
show  of  a  field-day ;  just  as  you  were  pleased  with  the 
m;isic  and  the  marching,  and  put  on  the  cockade  and  red 
coat.  All  seems  smooth  for  a  little  while.  He  goes 
through  the  outward  exercise  of  a  Christian,  a  degree  of 
credit  attends  his  new  profession,  but  he  never  suspects  there 
is  either  difficulty  or  discipline  attending  it ;  he  fancies  re- 
ligion is  a  thing  for  talking  about,  and  not  a  thing  of  the 
heart  and  the  life.  He  never  suspects  that  all  the  psalm- 
singing  he  joins  in,  and  the  sermons  he  hears,  and  the 
other  means  he  is  using,  are  only  as  the  exercise  and  the 
evolutions  of  the  soldiers,  to  fit  and  prepare  him  for  actual 
service ;  and  that  these  means  are  no  more  religion  itself, 
than  the  exercises  and  evolutions  of  your  parade  were  real 
warfare. 

"At  length  some  trial  arises:  this  nominal  Christian  is 
called  to  differ  from  the  world  in  some  great  point ;  some- 
thing happens  which  may  strike  at  his  comfort,  or  his 
credit,  or  security.  This  cools  his  zeal  for  religion,  just  as 
the  view  of  an  engagement  cooled  your  courage  as  a  soldier, 
lie  finds  he  was  only  angry  with  the  world,  he  was  not 
tired  of  it.  He  was  out  of  humor  with  the  world,  not  be- 
cause he  had  seen  througn  its  vanity  and  emptiness,  but 
because  the  world  was  out  of  humor  with  him.  He 
finds  that  it  is  an  easy  thing  to  be  a  fair-weather  Christian, 
bold  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  and  confident  where 
there  is  nothing  to  be  feared.  Difficulties  unmask  him  to 
others;  temptations  unmask  him  to  himself;  he  discovers, 
that  though  he  is  a  high  professor,  he  is  no  Christian ;  just 


OR,     THE     FAIR-WEATHER     CHRISTIAN.       489 

as  you  found -out  that  your  red  coat  and  your  cockade,  your 
shoulder-knot  and  your  musket,  did  not  prevent  you  from 
being  a  coward. 

"  Your  misery  in  the  military  life,  like  that  of  the  nom 
inal  Christian,  arose  from  your  love  of  ease,  your  cowardice, 
and  your  self-ignorance.  You  rushed  into  a  new  way  of 
life  without  trying  after  one  qualification  for  it.  A  total 
change  of  heart  and  temper  were  necessary  for  your  new 
calling.  With  new  views  and  principles  the  soldier's  life 
would  have  been  not  only  easy,  but  delightful  to  you.  But 
while  with  a  new  profession  you  retained  your  old  nature 
it  is  no  wonder  if  all  discipline  seemed  intolerable  to  you. 

"The  true  Christian,  like  the  brave  soldier,  is  supported 
under  dangers  by  a  strong  faith  that  the  fruits  of  that  vic- 
tory for  which  he  fights  will  be  safety  and  peace.  But,  alas  ! 
the  pleasures  of  this  world  are  present  and  visible  ;  the  re- 
wards for  which  he  strives  are  remote.  He  therefore  fails, 
because  nothing  short  of  a  lively  faith  can  ever  outweigh 
a  strong  present  temptation,  and  lead  a  man  to  prefer  the 
joys  of  conquest  to  the  pleasures  of  indulgence. 


fEE     END. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


St* 

TKTE 
f 

TH*tt  WEI 


WO 


- 


Form  L9-4 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFOKNI1 
LOS  ANGELES 


J* 


6 


3  1158  00087  1011 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIOMAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  365  141 


a  vV  V 


